


A reason to believe in something more

by sorcxita



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dystopia, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 117,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorcxita/pseuds/sorcxita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn’t his responsibility, that’s not how it works, and Louis has survived this far with his sanity mostly intact by following the rules and playing the game and, above all, not feeling much of anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Please note the tags*
> 
> Also, there are 18 chapters to this - I'm an idiot and I uploaded one chapter twice by mistake and I can't work out how to get it to reset.

　

 

One of these days Louis is going to get an actual lie in rather than being rudely awakened by Niall bouncing into the room without as much as a knock on the door, making so much noise that Louis has no choice but to, reluctantly, regretfully, emerge from sleep.

"Fuck _off_ , Niall," he says without opening his eyes. "Do you know what time is it?"

"Four o'clock," Niall says promptly, pulling back one of the curtains to let in some unwelcome sunlight. "And you need to get up."

"Four? Fuck off." Louis rolls over and pulls the duvet over his head. He doesn't _do_ daylight if he can help it, unless he's specifically been told to go outside and get some colour on his skin.

"You need to get up," Niall says again, more insistently, and

Louis sits up, immediately fully awake and alert.

"Guests are coming?" he asks, half-hoping that this is just another of Niall's wind-ups and he can somehow kick Niall out of the room and get back into bed in under ten minutes. He can get at least another hour’s sleep if he’s lucky.

Niall nods.

"One?" Louis pushes. "Or more?"

Niall shrugs. His silence is answer enough and apprehension churns in Louis's stomach as he rolls out of bed and stumbles past Niall to the bathroom. It's been two weeks since anyone last visited, longer than they’ve been left for a while. Louis was starting to wonder whether they’d been forgotten about completely. Hoping and worrying at the same time; being forgotten isn’t entirely a good thing.

"You need a shave, mate," Niall says when Louis goes back into the bedroom. He’s opened the curtains all the way and pushed up the sash windows to let in light and fresh air Louis could do without.

"Later." Louis scrubs at his three day stubble, feeling stupidly guilty about it all the same. He’s let himself go this last week, let complacency sink in, and that’s not a good idea. He prides himself on knowing all the rules, all the loopholes, knowing how to play the game and - in some obscure way he hasn’t entirely rationalised in his head - beat _them_ at it, and the key to it all is never growing complacent. That's how they catch you out, drag you down, and cast you aside.

"Don’t want to show your age," Niall says cheerily. "That’s all I’m saying." He’s sat on the window ledge of the biggest window, the one that looks over the front of the house, his face tilted into the sunlight. He hasn’t been allowed outside in a month and his pale skin is milky white.

"Don’t burn your nose," Louis snaps.

Niall grins unrepentantly, yawning and stretching, the sun catching the narrow collar around his neck as he moves. "Need a bit of colour." He hesitates before he adds, "Just so you know...Paul’s been clearing out the spare room."

It shouldn’t matter - it _doesn’t_ matter - but Louis still feels his heart skip a beat. "Oh," he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Someone new?"

"Someone new," Niall confirms.

"What do we know?"

"Very new. Impulse buy."

Which isn’t usual at all, and the apprehension starts to churn at Louis again. But this new purchase is going in- in the spare room, so it’s not like any of them are being replaced. Yet.

"How come you get the best room, anyway?" Niall says, distracting Louis from his increasingly panicked thoughts.

"Because I’m the oldest."

"Liam’s been here longer than you though," Niall points out.

Louis isn’t going to touch that one - Liam’s been here four years and if Louis thinks about _that_ too much he feels ill. "I’m still the oldest. And besides," he adds, pulling on his jeans, "Liam hasn’t got an arse like this."

"Oh, that’s talent," Niall says, but he’s grinning and Louis can’t help grinning back. "Why don’t I ever get to fuck you?"

"No one asks for that." Louis checks his reflection in the mirror. He really does need a shave, and some concealer for the shadows under his eyes, but he’ll leave that for Lou to sort out. "You’re the sweet, innocent one, remember."

And _that’s_ a joke - it’s been a while since Niall was anything even approaching _innocent_. The guests like the look though, like to watch Niall get taken advantage of by Liam or Zayn, sweetly despoiled for their entertainment. Forever untouched and virginal, until the next time. Louis knows how that one works too: _unique selling point_ is what it’s all about.

"Fuck you," Niall says amiably.

"You wish."

"It's my birthday tomorrow; how about an early present?"

"How about no?" The banter rolls easily off his tongue. It's all for show anyway; Niall has about as much real interest in fooling around with Louis as Louis does with Niall. He feels a bit guilty about that sometimes, like he _should_ want Niall, like he could have wanted him in another life, another existence. He tends to try and ignore those feelings though, because it doesn’t matter, in the end, what he wants or doesn’t want. He’s sucked Niall off before, when he's been told to, and he knows it means as little to Niall as it does to him.

Niall rolls his eyes. "Fine. Whatever."

"Get out. Go. Leave."

Louis has to kick him out of his room in the end: Niall will happily stay there for hours if Louis lets him but Louis likes what little privacy he has. That's the other advantage of his room - the other three rooms are right at the other end of the landing, down a short flight of steps. The house isn't soundproofed as such but it's an old house with solid walls that muffle sound reasonably well, especially with a bit of distance. It's an uncomfortable thought that he won't have that distance with the new purchase; the fifth room is right next to his, the only other room at this end of the house.

Louis pulls on a t shirt and the jeans he wears around the house and heads out. He hesitates on the landing: the door to the spare room is open for the first time in months. Paul had locked it after - after it became unoccupied, and Louis gets a wave of nausea when he sees it propped open again and a figure standing inside the room. It's only Paul, though; he spots Louis before Louis can scuttle downstairs and calls him in.

"Sleep ok?" Paul’s eyes miss nothing as he gives Louis a quick once-over but then that’s his job, to keep an eye on them. It’s in everyone’s interests to keep the boys as healthy as possible. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Louis says dryly. He risks a quick look around the room.

"I mean it. Make sure Lou pretties you up, ok? VIPs tonight."

People who know all the right people, Louis mentally translates. The last time they'd had _VIPs_ one of them had broken Louis's finger. He couldn't feel any less enthusiastic about the prospect of a re-run. He looks around the room again instead, half-dreading seeing some lingering trace of its former inhabitant’s existence, but there's nothing, not even the tiniest memento of him in the cold, bare room. The new double bed is incongruous and out of place given the lack of any other furniture.

"New boy coming," Paul says succinctly, noticing Louis's interest in the sudden changes.

"I heard. Really new. Bought yesterday."

"Yeah." Paul pulls a face. "A bit of notice would have been good. But we'll manage. Hopefully he'll be house-broken but he could be anything."

"If he's not he will be soon," Louis says, with more of an edge to his voice than he intends.

Paul gives him a sharp, warning look. "Exactly." Then, "You’re running late. Go and see Lou."

"What time are they getting here?" Louis asks, stalling.

"Seven at the earliest, but who knows if they'll eat first or just go straight to the main course." He looks meaningfully at Louis. "Best be ready."

Louis takes the hint and goes downstairs. Upstairs there's only the boys' bedrooms but downstairs the house is split neatly in two: the bit the guests see and the part they don't. The bit they see is the entrance hall and the sitting room that looks out over the garden and the dining room with its high, curving picture windows. It's all very tastefully rustic; warm, aged wooden furniture, comfortable armchairs. It's also a complete contrast to the bit they don't see, through a door that is locked when guests are in residence; sparse and modern and as cold and clinical as a hospital clinic. That's where Louis heads now, keying the code into the door that prevents guests from wandering in by mistake.

The first room looks like a waiting room - which, Louis supposes, it is. Andy, their other minder, looks up from a magazine as Louis enters and nods a silent greeting as Louis gives him a wave and heads for the shower room next door. He never bothers washing in his own bathroom when they have guests; the rules say he has to shower down here and he doesn’t see the point in washing twice. The downstairs shower is a communal affair and Zayn's already in there, all caramel skin and long limbs as he twists under the jets.

Of all of them, Zayn's probably the only one Louis has ever thought about fucking when they don't have to, the one he dares to think about when he rubs his hand against his inner thigh and thinks about touching his cock.

"Hey," Zayn says when Louis joins him.

"Niall says we're getting a fifth," Louis says without preamble.

Zayn shrugs. "Yeah." He tilts his head back under the spray, closing his eyes.

"Who's the lucky boy?"

"Could be a girl," Zayn points out.

Louis snorts. "Yeah, no."

"Didn't think there was going to be someone else. Not after what happened."

He's not making it obvious but Louis knows that Andy is listening to them; the boys don't really have any privacy anywhere in the house and none of them have keys to any of the doors to lock themselves away so there's always the expectation that they're being supervised. But then Andy's heard more than a few things that - technically - should have landed one or more of them in a whole world of trouble and as far as Louis knows he hasn't said anything so he thinks they might have some leeway as far as Andy's concerned. "Me neither," he says.

"It's been six months."

Louis swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. "Yeah."

They don't talk after that. Louis washes himself methodically, thoroughly, and by the time he gets out Zayn is already drying himself off next door. Louis grabs a clean towel and joins him, drying himself off and rubbing body lotion into every inch of skin from neck to toes while Zayn does the same. They both studiously avoid eye contact. Andy reads his magazine.

"What are they getting for dinner?" Louis asks Andy.

"Lemon sole. Passion fruit sorbet for dessert."

Zayn groans. "Sorbet again?"

"You don’t have to eat it," Andy says mildly.

"Got to keep our strength up." Louis gives Zayn a push in the direction of Lou’s workroom. "Come on, can’t keep Lou waiting."

Lou is just putting the finishing touches to Liam when they go through into her workroom. She gives Louis a quick smile and pats Liam on the shoulder.

"There you go. Perfect."

Liam squints doubtfully at the mirror. "Are you sure about the hair?"

"Looks lovely, Li," Louis says, winking at Lou. "You've never looked more beautiful."

"I look like a lumberjack," Liam says mournfully.

"You look very manly, love." Louis goes to rumple his hair and then remembers where he is and mimics Lou's shoulder pat instead. "If you're really lucky, you might get to fuck me later."

He tries not to sound too hopeful. Liam's fucked him more than a few times and it's always been good, as much as anything is _good_ , and Liam is careful and doesn't manhandle him any more than he's directed. He doesn't try to make it hurt either, which is more than can be said for most of the guests who ask for Louis, and if Louis is always going to be the second - or third - choice for Liam ... well, that's just something Louis has to accept.

"VIPs tonight," Liam says.

"Yeah." Louis drops into the chair Liam vacates and scowls dramatically at his reflection in the mirror. "Do your worst, Lou."

It isn’t unusual for guests to send through their requirements in advance and that’s exactly what’s happened today; Lou has a printout taped to the mirror so she can refer to it when necessary. What clothes to wear, how their hair should be, a shopping list of dos and don’ts to create the perfect living dolls.

"Glasses for you," she tells Louis. He scowls. He _hates_ wearing his glasses; it’s like an invitation for them to come on his face.

"What about me?" Zayn asks, wandering in with a towel slung casually around his hips.

"Eyeliner," Lou says matter-of-factly, pointing it out. Zayn groans.

"Again?"

"Not my fault, that’s what it says. Makes your eyes look lovely."

"I don’t _want_ my eyes to look lovely," Zayn grumbles. Liam catches his arm and Zayn turns into him and Louis looks away – he doesn’t hate them for finding something good in all this but he doesn’t care to watch them kiss either.

"That stubble has to go, babes," Lou tells Louis, poking at his shoulder sympathetically.

"What, I can’t steal Liam’s manly look?" Louis is already leaning back though; the request makes it clear he’s expected to be _pretty_ and by the time Lou’s finished with him that’s exactly what he looks like; a pretty, vapid doll. Lou doesn’t bother telling him to get himself ready to be fucked – it goes without saying for Louis – and he does it without thinking, opening himself up with one, two, three fingers while Lou does Zayn’s hair and Liam and Niall talk about the leftovers they might get from dinner later. When they don’t have guests they get to eat pretty much what they like – which means sandwiches, mostly, because none of them can cook – but when the house is busy they’re not allowed in the kitchen. It's always been the mantra that they have to earn everything, that it doesn't do to spoil them.

They're all restless, waiting, but there's a limit to how much they can burn off the excess energy. They can't muss up their clothes or their hair and Paul and Andy are too busy making sure everything is ready for their guests to spare the time to entertain them, so the four of them play cards in the sitting room instead, even though none of them really know the rules to any kind of card game.

"If you were free," Liam asks in that way he does sometimes, serious but trying to pretend he's not, "Would you come to a place like this?"

Niall' face scrunches. "As a volunteer, or-"

"No! As a guest." Liam shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Zayn. "I mean, would you think about us, if you were one of them? Like them, I mean."

"We're not free," Louis cuts in sharply before Niall can respond, leaning over to flick his finger against Liam's collar. "And we never will be. What's the point of talking about it?"

"We're not going to be here forever," Liam points outs. "And you heard what was on the radio the other da-"

"Shut _up_ , Li!"

"I’m just saying, some have escaped and they-"

Louis slaps him this time, on the arm, hard. Liam yelps and flinches away, and Zayn scowls at Louis.

"What?" Louis says, forcing himself to scowl back. "There’s no point in talking about it. Unless you want to get in shit, that is. Is that what you want, Li? Because this is a quick way to get all of us shipped off to the fucking medical research labs, or worse. How long do you reckon you’d last?"

"He was just asking a question," Zayn says quietly.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it," Liam adds, pale but defiant. "You think you’ll still be here when you’re twenty-five?"

"No." And Louis doesn't want to think about _that_ , about what happens the day he gets too old for this, when they get bored of him or just get a better offer. If he's lucky, maybe one of the guests will buy him. If he's unlucky ... Louis tries not think about things like that. He's heard stories. "But running away? Didn't know you were so desperate to leave us, Li. It'd be quiet without you screaming every time Zayn sucks your cock.

Liam blushes. It's so easy to wind him up; too easy, really. "I don't scream."

"Yeah, you do," Zayn and Niall say in unison, grinning at each other. The tension is broken, but Louis knows it’s only a temporary ceasefire between him and Liam and the knot of anxiety in his belly tightens just a little more. Liam’s thinking too much, and it’s dangerous for all of them, and Louis needs to find a way to fix it.

They're onto their fourth game of cards when they hear the unmistakable crunch of car tyres on gravel that signals their guests’ arrival. Within seconds the cards are gone - underneath an armchair is good enough for now - and the four of them are kneeling in a neat, expectant line in front of the fireplace. Louis concentrates on breathing evenly, in and out, Zayn’s shoulder against his a warm and reassuring touch as Paul comes clattering downstairs to open the front door to the visitors.

"Three," Liam whispers. They’ve all been holding their breath, listening intently to the footsteps and distant voices in the entrance hall. Louis lets himself relax a little. Three isn’t so bad: Simon and two guests. One of them might even get a night off, if they’re lucky. It’s the waiting, the not knowing, that Louis hates most.

When the door does finally open, an interminable time later, it’s Paul, grim-faced and intent.

"You’re to be at dinner," he says simply, and leaves them to make their own way to the dining room.

***

Dinner is all oddly stilted conversation Louis doesn't bother following too closely, interspersed with some awkward silences when the woman sat next to him giggles just a little too loud, a little too late. He’s seen her before but he can’t quite remember when and in what context. Louis tries very hard not to look down at the way her dress is rucked up round her hips or how she tugs at Niall's hair, encouraging and guiding him as he laps between her legs.

The rest of the boys have been sat at table tonight, something that only happens when the party is small. Louis always feels awkward eating knowing that Simon's eyes are on him, and the others don't look comfortable with the situation either - Zayn fidgets constantly and Liam drops his fork three times before they've even had the starter. It's a relief when Simon finally pushes his chair back to signal that the meal is at an end but at the same time Louis is nervous. He's tried not to make eye contact with the man sitting opposite him all the way through the meal but he's been aware of him, and been aware of him looking, assessing. Louis’ been here long enough to just have a _feeling_ about some of the guests and all the red flags are being run up with this one. Louis doesn’t remember seeing him before and Simon hasn’t bothered introducing him. The first isn’t necessarily a bad sign - Simon often brings guests Louis hasn’t seen before; the second certainly is.

"I assume you're taking Niall." Simon keeps it deadpan but he can't quite hide his amusement. The woman, for her part, gives him a smirk and raises her glass in a mock toast. Louis remembers her then, the gesture triggering a rush of sickening sense memory. She’d fucked him just to see his reactions, to laugh at him biting his lip in an ultimately futile effort to hold back his quiet moans and sobs as she took him with minimal preparation and even less care. The abrasions on the backs of his thighs from her harness rubbing the skin raw had taken _days_ to heal. He hopes she won’t treat Niall the same way; he doesn’t think she will. It’s _him_ they want to hurt, to humiliate, to break.

"I am," she confirms. She turns her head and winks at Louis. Louis pretends he hasn’t noticed and risks a quick glance at Zayn instead. He looks less carefully composed as usual; a combination, Louis thinks, of his burning hatred of being prettied up for guests and the fact that the unknown male guest has his hand on his thigh. The eyeliner suits him though.

"I'll take Louis and Liam," Simon continues, and Louis exhales. He sees Liam and Zayn exchanging glances and then they’re all getting up, following Simon’s lead, the meal at an end.

The guest suites aren't in the house itself; they're in the annexe, linked to the house by a short, covered walkway. The woman and the third guest head straight for their rooms, Zayn and Niall trailing in their wakes. Simon takes his time to move things out there, preferring to talk to Paul in the entrance hall while Louis and Liam wait in silence. Louis tries and fails to listen in on the conversation but they're both talking so quietly he can't make out a word.

"What do you think he'll want?" Liam asks quietly. "The usual?"

"Probably." Louis isn't really interested in discussion at this point: he just wants to get it over with as quickly and easily as possible so he can go back to bed. He feels unaccountably nervous tonight, an itching underneath the skin, something he can't quite get a handle on. Whatever it is, it annoys him; Louis has made being in control of himself an art form and he doesn't want to start slipping now.

Whatever Simon and Paul are talking about, it seems to have been settled to everyone’s satisfaction and Paul heads off in the direction of the guest annexe. Simon pulls out his phone and starts tapping away at it. Anyone who didn't know him would think he was oblivious to Louis and Liam's presence but they both know him too well to relax so easily. Louis stares fixedly at the pattern of the wallpaper in front of him; Liam is similarly fascinated by the carpet. Louis wonders if he’s thinking about Zayn. Wondering. Worrying. That’s the danger of getting too close, of caring too much.

"Zayn can look after himself," he says, very quietly, watching Simon closely and making sure not to even glance in Liam’s direction. "He’ll be ok."

"I know he will," Liam says unconvincingly.

Simon is done with whatever he’s doing, finally, and he gives them a quick nod to follow him. There are five guest suites arranged around a courtyard and Simon’s is the largest and most luxurious, and also the furthest from the main house, set apart a little from the others. Louis usually tries not to think about the reasons for that, or look at the deep, shadowed alcoves that line the walkway. Logically he knows he’s too old to be afraid of the dark, but logic runs right into the rigid wall of experience.

The suite is already unlocked when they get there, and Louis slips past Simon to go straight to the minibar in the sitting area to pour the man a drink. He hears Liam behind him offering to take Simon’s jacket. Little things that can make the difference between an easy night and a difficult one, and Simon has the power of life and death over them and Louis never forgets that for a second.

"Just put it over the chair," Simon tells Liam easily. "Don’t worry about it. Thank you." The last is to Louis, who stands awkwardly rubbing his hands together after he’s handed over the drink, before he remembers himself and adopts a more suitable posture. Only just in time; Simon takes a sip of the drink and then walks a careful circle around Louis, scrutinising him from every angle. Louis stands perfectly still, trying not to breathe. He’s aware of Liam hovering, just out of his eyeline.

"Well done," Simon says and Louis exhales as the older man steps back. There’s an awkward silence and then Liam moves forward, slipping his arms around Louis’ waist in a parody of intimacy, his hands sliding under Louis’ shirt. Louis gasps in mock arousal, closing his eyes, tilting his head back against Liam’s shoulder. It’s all for show but it’s an easy game, one Louis knows how to play. Liam can think of Zayn and he can think about nothing and in the morning they’ll still be friends.

"Oh no." Simon taps Louis on the nose, the way he knows annoys Louis. "Not tonight."

Louis disengages from Liam and they exchange glances, neither quite sure what to do. Usually it’s fairly straightforward with Simon; he knows what he likes and they know what he likes. Even when he deliberately tries to shake them up a little there are certain things that stay the same and he always, _always_ likes to see Louis and Liam together. Until now.

"You’re the oldest, aren’t you, Louis?"

The words are like a physical blow and Louis feels his chest constrict at the force of them. He manages to nod, somehow. Manages to hold himself still.

" _Aren’t_ you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How long have you been here? A good while now." Simon leans back against the wall, eyeing Louis speculatively. "I’ve had good use out of you."

Too old, too _used_. He’s going to vomit. Or pass out: Louis isn’t quite sure how he’s still standing. He feels Liam shifting uncomfortably behind him and he sees the flicker of Simon’s eyes and knows that Liam will probably pay for that at some point - and if it wasn’t for the panic that’s threatening to take him over entirely he’d care more about that.

Simon abruptly straightens up and heads towards the bedroom. Not knowing what else to do, Louis follows, Liam at his heels. Simon doesn’t usually take them into the bedroom and certainly doesn’t let any of them anywhere near the bed, but this time the bed is already occupied. The shock of that - and the fact that the lights are turned down low - means it takes a while for Louis to work out what exactly he’s looking at and when he does all the pieces fall into place, because the boy spreadeagled naked on the bed, hands tied tightly to the headboard, is almost certainly the new boy the room upstairs is prepared for.

"This is Harry," Simon says conversationally as he walks across to the bed. "You can say hello to him, if you like. He can’t really answer at the moment though. He made a nuisance of himself on the way up here."

Close to, Louis can see the sheen of sweat on Harry’s pale skin, the glazed eyes and shallow breaths. He looks young - a couple of years younger than Louis, at least - and so, so vulnerable. Louis swallows thickly. "He doesn’t need to be tied," he says. "Sir."

"No." Simon arranges himself in a chair, facing the bed. "He doesn’t. But he is."

Louis presses two fingers against Harry’s neck, feeling for the pulse. They’re all used to looking after each other and he does it without thinking. Harry’s pulse is more rapid than Louis would like but it’s strong and regular. Harry mumbles something incoherent and turns his head and Louis realises that he’s been touching Harry for far longer than is strictly necessary. He snatches his hand away, flushing, and looks up to find Simon watching him with a smile on his face.

"Like him? Good. He’s a treat for you, Louis."

"What kind of treat?" But even as he says it Louis understands _exactly_ what Simon means, and a fresh wave of nausea washes over him.

"Don’t you want to fuck him, Louis?" The deliberate profanity drops into the awkward silence. "I know you never get to fuck, only be fucked. And that’s not really fair, is it? So here’s your chance. You can fuck him. He hasn’t done it before. All new for you. Unspoiled."

Liam starts to say something - Louis knows exactly _what_ he’s going to say - but Louis’ hand clamps down on his arm and he falls silent. "I don’t know," Louis says, trying to force a confidence he doesn’t feel into his voice. "Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?"

"Oh, Louis." Simon sounds amused as he walks over to the armchair in the corner and settles himself down. From there, Louis realises, he has a perfect view of the bed. "I’m giving you this opportunity and I suggest you use it."

It’s not a suggestion: Louis is in no doubt now what Simon is looking for. His hands go to his shirt buttons; undressing buys him time, gives him space to think. Liam hovers nervously, obviously not really knowing what to do. Louis gives him a smile but Liam doesn’t smile back.

"Relax," Louis hisses warningly. Simon is perfectly capable of asking for and taking it out on Zayn if Liam displeases him, and Liam _knows_ that; it frustrates Louis sometimes that the others always seem to forget, and that he’s _always_ the one who has to remind them.

Liam shakes his head and looks pointedly at Louis’ crotch. "How’s this going to work then?"

Louis, long past the point of being remotely ashamed about _that_ particular issue, ignores him, turning his back as he heads for the bed. He’s aware of Simon watching intently and he tries to tune that out, tries to focus on the here and now. The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed and Harry blinks and turns his head from side to side, trying to see what’s happening. It’s clear to Louis that Harry is only dimly aware of what’s happening; he’s not even sure Harry can _see_ him as he straddles Harry’s hips, balancing himself carefully. Harry’s cock lies soft against his thigh but Louis knows he could easily have him hard in minutes and it would be so _easy_ like that, so familiar.

Which is, presumably, why Simon has told him to do something different tonight.

Somewhere behind him, Liam coughs. "You need to…" he says, trailing off.

"I know what I need to do," Louis snaps. He hears Simon chuckle, very softly, and he hates that sound and thrills to it at the same time. And there’s a moment when he nearly does go through with it, when conscience and any lingering sense of morality come close to being set aside in pursuit of something he’s never had. A moment when baser urges, long suppressed, threaten to overwhelm him. A moment when temptation beckons him on, to take as he’s been taken, to use as he’s been used, to hurt as he’s been hurt.

And then Harry’s lips part; his tongue flickers out, moistening chapped lips. Louis’ sure he’s the only one hears the soft, breathless plea Harry whispers as Louis rests a hand against his cheek.

"Is he a virgin?" Liam asks, in that tone of voice he uses when he wants to be helpful. "Because then-"

"I think I’ve already told Louis he is." Simon’s voice cuts across Liam like the crack of a whip. "Haven’t I?"

"Yes," Louis says quietly. "Yes, you have." Harry gazes up at him, eyes unfocused, but Louis knows better now, knows he isn’t entirely unaware. Perhaps it would have been easier if he’d been sure that Harry was unknowing, perhaps not. He’s not _involved_. He doesn’t _get_ involved, doesn’t let himself get involved. It’s just not as simple as it should be with Harry.

"If you don’t think you can get it up," Simon continues, cruelly, "You can at least fuck him with your fingers. He’s yours, Louis. It’s him or you. Make your choice."

Louis hears Liam’s breath hitching, sees him fidgeting in his peripheral vision. He looks down again at Harry, struggling weakly against the ropes tying him to the bed, and knows he doesn’t have many options. He’s here for Simon’s amusement and it’s his discomfort Simon wants to see.

So he makes his choice.

Simon makes him kneel over Harry for it, knees either side of Harry’s hips so they’re skin to skin, Louis’ limp cock rubbing against Harry’s thighs.

"Look at him," Simon instructs Louis. "I want you to watch him."

And Louis does, keeping his eyes open and his gaze locked on Harry’s face as Liam fucks into him hard and fast, quickly setting the punishing rhythm Simon demands. Harry’s eyes are green - so green - and Louis sees the first stirrings of real awareness in their depths as their bodies are driven together by Liam’s relentless thrusts. He’s not entirely surprised when he feels Harry’s cock start to harden against his belly; it’s friction, nothing more. He clumsily pets at Harry’s hair, whispers soothing nothings in his ear as Harry frowns and bites his lip, barely breathing. Louis knows he doesn’t really understand what’s happening; he manages to shift his position slightly to give Harry a better angle and is rewarded with a gasp and a tiny moan from Harry.

"It’s all right," he tells Harry softly. "It’s all right." He gets a hand between them, wraps his fingers around Harry’s cock, giving him the friction he needs. Harry comes with a groan of almost-pain, shuddering against Louis and making small, hurt sounds like he’s the one getting fucked and not Louis, and Louis wants to tell him it’s ok, wants to comfort him, but Simon is on his feet, chuckling as he tells Liam:

"Make it hurt."

Louis buries his face against Harry’s neck and holds on, holds on as if Harry is his anchor in a stormy sea. His glasses have slipped off; the frame presses uncomfortably into the side of his face but there’s nothing he can do about it. Even if he could reach to push them back on - and he doesn’t think he could let go of Harry if he tried - he doesn’t want to. Sometimes it’s just better not to see.

Liam doesn’t drag it out any longer than he has to in order to satisfy Simon but to Louis it still feels like an age before Liam finally grunts and shivers above him as he spills into Louis’ body, and then he’s pulling out, and Louis tries and fails to hold back a whimper of distress. He’s not hurt badly though; Liam knows how to make it look worse than it is. Louis’ had far worse from the guests who fuck him.

"You can go," Simon tells Liam. Louis stays where he is as the bed dips, shivering with more than cold. He senses Simon moving around the room, hears the sound of a zip going down once the door has closed behind Liam. He presses his face against Harry’s shoulder and takes a deep breath as he feels the rustle of fabric against his arm.

"Leave him alone."

It takes Louis a moment to realise that the words came from Harry. He’s slurring a little, still dazed, but there’s determination in that rumbling drawl. _No_ , he wants to scream. _Don’t. Let him do what he wants_. But he doesn’t. He knows Simon is standing over them and he waits for the lash of retribution: the first - the most important - rule is that you never, ever answer back. He starts thinking that if they’re lucky only Harry will get punished but as soon as he thinks that he realises that he doesn’t _want_ Harry to be punished, that he’s the one who deserved it for having let weakness dictate his actions. Then again, there’s no guarantee Simon wouldn’t have made Liam fuck him anyway, even if he’d hurt Harry the way he’d been told to. Maybe Simon had wanted Liam to fuck Harry too. Louis is too tired and too sore to think through all the possible permutations; tomorrow he’ll wallow in self-recrimination but not now.

"What did you say?" Simon sounds almost amused.

"I said, leave him alone," Harry says, his voice stronger this time. "He did what you said. Leave him alone."

"Ah," Simon says, and Louis’ heart sinks. There’s a whole world of undertones in that one little word and he knows Harry doesn’t understand any of them, not yet. "I’ll leave you two to it then."

Louis hasn’t got the strength to move when Simon’s gone. He knows he should, knows he should untie Harry’s wrists, let him up, explain to him _how things work_ , but it’s almost…comforting to lie pressed against the heat of Harry’s body, breathing in the scent of him.

"Thank you," Harry says after a while.

"For what?" Louis muffles a yawn against Harry’s shoulder. "You do realise he’s going to get payback for that, right? You can’t tell him no."

Harry is silent for a second and then, "He was going to hurt you."

Louis shrugs, as much as he can. "Nothing I haven’t had before."

"You- That’s not ok." Harry sounds so confused, so bewildered, that Louis nearly bursts out laughing.

"No, it’s not ok. But that’s how it is. You’ll get the idea." _Please get the idea_ , he adds mentally.

"What do you mean?"

"You can’t show weakness like that," Louis says patiently. "He knows he can use me against you now, that you don’t want me to be hurt. So next time he’ll hurt me, to hurt you. Don’t you _know_ this stuff?"

Another moment of silence. "This- This is the first time," Harry says eventually.

"Oh." Louis’ voice sounds very small even to himself. "Shit." He makes a mental note to ask, later, how Harry ended up here. "Sorry."

"It’s not your fault," Harry says. He nuzzles against Louis’ hair, turning his head as much as he can. "It’s not."

They don’t talk again until Paul comes to lift Louis out of bed so he can untie Harry. "Go and shower," he tells Louis. "I’ll take care of this one."

And that should be it - Louis should walk away. Harry isn’t his responsibility, that’s not how it works, and Louis has survived this far with his sanity mostly intact by following the rules and playing the game and, above all, not feeling much of anything.

"Don’t leave him on his own," he says instead. "Put him in with Niall."

Paul nods, eyeing him speculatively. "Sleep well, Louis," is all he says though.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis makes the mistake of stretching when he first wakes up and immediately regrets it when every muscle in his body protests. He lies very still for a while, letting his breathing settle, before he dares to try and turn over again. His head hurts and he feels queasy but he doesn’t think he’s going to vomit so eventually he gingerly sits up, moving slowly just in case. It's still an hour or so before dawn but Louis has no difficulty in seeing because the curtains are drawn back and moonlight spills into the room, almost as bright as the sun. Not to Louis' great surprise, Zayn is sat on the window ledge, knees drawn up, face turned into the ethereal light.

Louis sighs and gets out of bed, padding softly over to the bathroom to relieve himself and rinse his mouth out with cold water. He washes his face, clumsy in the subdued light. Lou removed the make up before he went to bed but it still feels like it's there on his skin and Louis methodically rinses his face with soap and water until he feels clean again.

Zayn hasn't moved an inch when Louis goes back into the bedroom but there's a change in him; he doesn't look round but Louis knows he's aware of him, back from whatever place he goes to on nights like this. Louis goes over to him and Zayn moves his legs so Louis can sit down and they sit like that for a while, the silence between them an easy one because there have been many nights like this - so many, many nights - and there’s an understanding between them that doesn’t need to be expressed in words.

Louis leans against the glass and looks out at the empty garden below. There isn't much to look at, even though Louis' got the best view of all of them. A patio immediately below with the window, with a table and chairs. A stretch of grass, interspersed with gravel paths and a fountain. And, deceptively close, deceptively attainable, the boundary of the estate: a hedge and, beyond it, a railway line.

"His name's Harry," Louis says after a while. He doesn't bother explaining further; he knows Zayn knows exactly who he means.

Zayn nods, saying nothing.

"He's probably an idiot," Louis adds.

Zayn snorts, very quietly. "He'll fit right in."

"Speak for yourself." Louis shifts uncomfortably; his leg is going numb. "Want a cup of tea?"

"No, but I'll come down with you."

Louis pulls on boxers and a t shirt before they go downstairs, more because he's cold than out of any sense of propriety. Technically they're not supposed to be out of their rooms at night, and officially the rule only stretches as far as allowing them the freedom of the upstairs corridor, but Louis knows exactly how far the rule can be pushed and as usual Preston just sighs at them when they walk past him to the kitchen.

"You know what," Zayn says, settling himself on a chair while Louis carefully fills the kettle. He hasn't put the light on, mindful of attracting too much attention, and it's hard to see how full the kettle is. "One day we're gonna get security who stop us doing stuff."

"Like what?" Louis scoffs. "Making tea? Yeah, that's dangerous."

The floorboards above their heads creak; someone else is awake. Louis flicks the kettle on and starts looking for mugs as whoever it is starts coming downstairs.

"We're lucky, that's all I'm saying," Zayn says. "Could be a lot worse."

Louis thinks about Harry, and Simon's words, and bile rises in his throat. "Yeah, a lot worse. Hey, Liam."

Liam looks like he hasn't slept much, which, Louis thinks, he probably hasn't. "Is that tea?" he asks.

"It will be." Louis gives him a not-too subtle shove towards a chair. "Maybe toast, if you're nice."

"No!" Liam and Zayn say in unison, Liam adding reproachfully, "There is not enough jam in the world to cover how burnt your toast is."

"Hey," Louis says, trying to look offended. "That was one time."

"The _only_ time we've let you make toast," Zayn says wryly. "And I will have tea."

Louis opens the fridge to get the milk and light floods into the room just as Zayn reaches out to set out coasters on the table and both Louis and Liam get a good look, for the first time, at the livid, finger-shaped bruises circling his wrist.

There's a moment of nothing, a moment where time stops and no one moves or even breathes, and then Liam reaches out and carefully lays his hand against Zayn's. Louis looks away.

"You ok?" he hears Liam ask, very quietly. He doesn't hear Zayn's answer.

The kettle starts to boil and Louis busies himself getting everything ready, filling the mugs, carrying them over to the table, movement and noise and distraction from the thoughts buzzing in his head. Thoughts are bad; Louis spends a lot of time deliberately not thinking but this time of night is dangerous, always has been. Worries and fears and hopes and dreams he can forget about usually push themselves to the front of his mind in the hours just before dawn, demanding attention he doesn't dare to give.

"You need to get a new t shirt," he tells Liam. "That one has holes in it."

"I sleep in this shirt, Louis," Liam says with a long-suffering sigh. "It doesn't matter." He bumps Louis' knee with his, and Louis bumps back, and it's ok, they both know what this is; an apology without words, an acknowledgement of what had to be done. They've known each other for too long for awkwardness.

"Is there biscuits?" Zayn asks.

"It's four in the morning," Liam points out.

"There's jammy dodgers." Louis scoots back to grab them from the cupboard. "I was keeping them for myself but I will be nice and let you have one."

"Very generous." Liam takes a sip of his tea. "So, Harry."

"You know his name?" Zayn asks, surprised.

"Well, yeah, I was there when-" Liam stops abruptly and coughs. Louis pats him on the back.

"He means he was there with his cock up my arse while Harry lay there admiring the view," he tells Zayn. Zayn sniggers.

"That's not how it went," Liam protests. Zayn pats his hand.

"Oh, stop protesting, Liam," Louis says, keeping his voice light while trying to give Liam a warning glance. The last thing he wants is Liam telling Zayn exactly what happened - although, knowing Liam, he probably will, eventually, because Zayn is sharp enough to know that there's more to the story and he won't rest until he knows everything.

“So he didn’t, like, with Harry?” Zayn prompts.

“Nope.”

“He wanted Louis to,” Liam says helpfully. Louis kicks him under the table.

“Oi!”

“I said no,” Louis says, ignoring Liam. “Who’d turn down Liam? Especially in that t shirt.”

“Fuck you,” Liam mumbles.

“Already did.” Louis leans over and pats his arm. “You should go back to bed.”

“He feels guilty, you know,” Zayn says conversationally when Liam’s gone back upstairs. “Every time.”

“For what, fucking me?” Louis keeps his back turned as he rinses their mugs in the sink. He doesn’t really want to discuss this, not even with Zayn.

“Yeah.”

“Then he’s an idiot. It doesn’t mean anything. Does he feel guilty when it’s Niall?”

“Course he does. So do I.”

Louis shakes his head. "You two are as bad as each other. I'm going back to bed. You coming in with me?"

"Yeah."

Louis pulls the curtains closed again when they get back to the room, making sure there are no cracks that can let in even a sliver of daylight before curling up on his side of the bed and letting himself slip into the blissful oblivion of sleep.

***

When Louis opens his eyes the first thing he sees is Harry.

"What are you doing in here?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. He's been asleep for four or five hours, at least, but he doesn't feel particularly refreshed and certainly not in the mood to find the new boy sitting next to his bed staring at him while he sleeps.

Harry opens his mouth and closes it again, like he's thought better of whatever he was going to say. Louis eyes him more closely: he's pale and looks like he's been sick a few times.

"If you're going to be sick," he says, "Go and use your bathroom, not mine."

Harry blinks. "I'm not going to be sick," he says slowly.

"You have been though."

"Twice." Harry blushes, like it's something shameful. Louis laughs inwardly at that: Harry's standards of _shameful_ are in for a rude awakening, he thinks.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. That stuff always makes you vomit. It wears off though."

"I feel better," Harry assures him. "I had breakfast."

"Oh, good." Louis rubs his eyes again. The way that Harry is staring at him is unnerving. "Did someone show you where the kitchen is?"

"Liam." Harry's blush intensifies. "He, um. He explained that you, like, make it look worse than it is."

"Wha- oh. That. Yeah." Louis scrubs at his morning stubble and tries not to notice how Harry's eyes track the movement of his hand. "He likes that. Simon, I mean."

"He likes to think you're getting hurt?"

"I thought that was obvious," Louis says wryly. "Yes, he likes that. A lot of them do. You'll get used to it. Just play along."

The little crease between Harry's eyes deepens. "I don't understand why they like that."

Louis thinks it's far too early for this kind of conversation. "It doesn't matter whether you understand or not," he says sharply. "They do. And you need to get used to it."

Shit. Now Harry looks like he's going to cry. Louis has no idea what to say to him to make it better, because the truth is that there isn't any better.

"Look, it's ok," he tries. "You'll work it out. It's not that bad."

_For now_ , he adds mentally. _Until you get too old or too rebellious or Simon just gets sick of the sight of you. Then it will get not ok very fast_.

"Yeah." Harry seems to pull himself together a little, to Louis' relief. "Like, I know it could be worse."

"Exactly. Well done. And now I'm going to have a shower."

Zayn turns over in his sleep, mumbling to himself. Louis sees Harry's eyes skip to Zayn, then back to him, and he sighs inwardly, waiting for the inevitable question.

"You and him-" Harry says slowly.

"Zayn."

"You and Zayn ... are you...?"

"No," Louis says patiently. "Him and Liam, yes. Me and him, no."

"But Liam..."

"Liam did what he was told to." Louis can tell it's going to be a very long day. "Doesn't mean anything. Like I said, you'll get used to it."

To avoid any further questions, Louis gets out of bed, ignoring Harry as best he can. He's not responsible for Harry. He can't change anything for Harry, can't make anything better. Tonight Harry could be the one face down getting fucked by Liam; it's not anything Louis can save him from. It’s not a thought he finds particularly comforting. It doesn't stop the cold, sick feeling he gets when he thinks about Harry's first time being like that.

He washes himself down in the shower quickly, efficient as ever, but afterwards he stands under the spray, letting the water cascade over his back. He doesn't usually linger like this and maybe he is avoiding Harry, just a little. With any luck, he thinks, Harry will have got bored and left if he leaves it long enough.

Harry hasn't left when Louis finally emerges from the bathroom. Instead he's sat with Niall on the window-ledge. The sash window is pushed up and the two of them are sat with their legs dangling outside, kicking their heels against the wall. Louis glances over at the bed. Zayn is still asleep, or pretending to be asleep.

"You're going to get a tan," Louis reminds Niall, towelling himself dry..

"Have you seen the weather?" Niall says amiably.

"You can burn when it's cloudy." Louis throws his towel in the general direction of the clothes bin.

"That's true," Harry says, very seriously. "I went to the beach once with my mum and dad and it was cloudy and I got burnt and I had to have after-sun on my legs and it hurt for days."

"Right," Louis says, wishing Zayn was awake so he could roll his eyes at him. "Thanks."

"All right, I'm coming in," Niall says grumpily, swinging his legs round.

"Just looking out for you." Louis tries to work up some enthusiasm for getting dressed. It's so tempting to just get back into bed and go back to sleep. "Is Simon still here?"

"Yeah. There's no dinner tonight but he wants us ready."

Louis nods. "All of us?" he asks.

"You," Niall says, almost apologetically, and that's ok; Louis was expecting it, after what’s happened. There had to be repercussions and of course Louis is the one to bear the brunt of them. It’s not the first time.

"I'm going to find Liam," he says, pulling on his jeans and looking round for a t shirt. "Get out of here and let Zayn sleep. Show Harry round the house or something."

"He's seen the house," Niall says.

"Or _something_ , I said." There's a patch of abraded skin on his arm, where Liam held him down, and the fabric of the t shirt rasps against it. "Find something to do that isn't in my room, yeah? Show Harry his room."

"I, um, don't have any furniture," Harry says. He tries to swing his long legs round like Niall and can't quite do it; it's awkward and clumsy and faintly ridiculous and utterly endearing and Louis hates him, right at that moment; a sudden, burning, visceral hate. He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to care.

"You've got a bed," he says shortly. "That's where everyone starts. You have to earn everything else."

"Earn- oh." Harry's face flushes a delicate pink.

"Yes, earn," Louis continues ruthlessly. Whatever romantic idealistic ideas Harry might still be harbouring need to be crushed as soon as possible. "They use you, they fuck you, and if they're nice and you're a lucky boy, you get a treat. Maybe. And it never really belongs to you and they can take it away again just like that, because you're nothing to them and you never will be."

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

"Great pep talk, Louis," Zayn mumbles.

"Shut up, you're asleep." Louis doesn't look back at Harry, doesn't want to see the look of betrayal in his eyes. It's better this way, he tells himself. He doesn't want Harry getting any stupid ideas from what happened before.

“He knows how it works, Lou,” Niall says softly. “Or he will. Won’t you, Harry? You’ll learn.”

Louis doesn’t wait for Harry’s response. He snatches up his hoodie and heads for the door. "See you later,” he says curtly.

The house is mostly quiet. Louis can hear a couple of the cleaners in the library but he can’t make out what they’re talking about over the blare of their radio. Some song he doesn’t know. The cleaners come on a rota; Louis never pays them much attention because the boys aren’t allowed to talk to them and they aren’t allowed to talk to the boys, and the last person who had tried to make some kind of human contact with them had disappeared the day after so Louis doesn’t think it’s worth the risk to even try. Besides, he knows what most of the casual staff think of the boys; it’s obvious in the way they look at them when they think they’re unobserved, the way they giggle when one of them is limping, the snide remarks they probably think go unheard. Louis has exceptions - Lou, most of the guards - but he detests most of the people who come into the house.

It’s cold outside and Louis pulls on his hoodie. He doesn't have to go looking for Liam; he knows exactly where he's going to be. Five minutes later he's sitting on the low wall that edges the kitchen garden, watching Liam do push-ups in the small paved area.

"Simon's asked for me tonight," he tells him without preamble.

"I know." Liam's face is set in an expression of intense concentration as he switches to one-handed push-ups. "Niall told me."

"FIFA night for you boys then, yeah?" Louis distractedly kicks at a pebble. "See if you can explain things to Harry."

Liam moves into a series of stretches that make Louis wince just watching. "Things? He didn't get it last night?"

Louis laughs hollowly. "No. And he told Simon to stop."

"He did _what_?" Liam stops, stares at Louis in shock.

"Told him to stop. Told him to leave me alone." Louis feels sick just remembering it. “After you went.”

Liam doesn't look much better. "Shit. What happened? Did he- you look ok, I mean."

"He left me alone."

"Shit," Liam says flatly.

"Pretty much,” Louis agrees.

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Louis scratches his arm distractedly. He doesn’t end up with evidence of being used very often, not like Zayn, who bruises easily and with a macabre beauty that makes some of the guests - the ones who like that sort of thing - hurt him again and again just to see the bruises bloom.

Liam has the grace to look embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry, that was stupid." 

"I can deal with Simon," Louis says with more confidence than he feels. "Just talk to Harry, yeah? Make him see sense."

Liam comes to sit on the wall next to Louis, close enough to touch if Louis wanted. "Maybe it'd be better from you,” he suggests.

"Why? Because I got him off? No." He elbows Liam. "Besides, you're the responsible one. You're good at being reassuring."

"Fuck off." But Liam relaxes a little.

Louis glances back at the house. There aren't any windows looking out onto the kitchen garden but it still feels like they're being watched. They probably are: it’s hard to find anywhere where they aren’t under observation in some way.

Liam notices him looking. "You can stay out here a bit longer, you know. No one's going to be looking for you yet."

Louis shakes his head. "No, it's ok. Better to be ready. Don't want to risk not being ready." He gets to his feet, wincing at the pull in his leg muscles. "Get Zayn out of my bed, yeah?"

Liam gives him a sad smile. "Yeah. See you later."

Louis takes the long way round to get back to the house, skirting the boundary of the staff quarters. It’s a new building, and built in a style that doesn’t at all match the main house. Louis’ never been in it. It's out of bounds for him but as long as he stays on the path he's ok, he's safe. As he approaches the house Louis sees Paul waiting for him, standing at the door with a grim expression on his face.

"Getting some fresh air?" Paul asks as Louis gets nearer. He holds the door open for him.

"Something like that," Louis says as cheerily as he can manage. Paul sighs exasperatedly.

"Go and get cleaned up."

"It's not that late," Louis objects but goes anyway. There's not much point arguing. Even though he's just had a shower he takes another in the cold, clinical communal shower area before going through to Lou's workroom.

"You look tired," she comments as he drops into the chair. "Zayn in your bed again?"

"Can't get him out of it." Louis scowls dramatically at his own reflection. "Do your worst."

"Oi." Lou flicks his arm. "My best, you mean."

"Something like that."

Louis has to admit she does a good job with him. By the time she's finished there's no sign of the dark circles under his eyes and his skin looks flawless and clear.

"Your clothes are over there," she tells him, brushing a few stray hairs from his neck. "You should grow your hair a bit. It'd look good longer again."

Louis suppresses a shudder. "Maybe." He reaches for the neatly-folded pile of clothes; all new, all expensive, all picked out for him and nothing like anything he'd ever pick out for himself. He glances at Lou's reflection in the mirror and notices, for the first time, that she doesn't quite look herself. "Everything ok?" he asks hesitantly.

It's a _thing_ , really, not to ask. Technically they're not supposed to talk to any of the staff, even the house staff they see every day, not about anything that happens outside the house. It's not a rule as such, but it's understood. And Louis thinks it's for the best, really. He gets through every day of his miserable life by very much not thinking about the outside world.

Lou sighs. "It's- it's nothing. Just stuff on the news." She forces a smile. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"Right." Louis stands up and starts getting dressed.

"You want me to get you a sandwich or anything?" she asks.

"Shit, I know it's going to be bad when you're offering me food," Louis says. Then his brain catches up with what he's just said and he adds, "Sorry."

Lou flicks his arm again. "S'ok. I'm sorry. I don't think he's that angry."

“Hope you’re right.” Louis checks his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t think the clothes really suit him and he pulls on the shirt self-consciously.

“You look good,” Lou reassures him. “That’s how he wanted you.”

“That’s the important thing then,” Louis says tightly. He glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. “Can I stay in here? Don’t feel like-” _letting the others see me like this_.

“Course you can.” Lou pats his shoulder. "There's some magazines on there if you want to read them."

"I've read them," Louis says.

"Not them, you haven't. I only brought them in this morning." Lou bustles around the room, tidying away the tools of her trade. She only has him to see to tonight, which means an early finish for her. Louis wonders, just for a moment, what her life is like away from the house. Whether she's married, has a boyfriend, or a girlfriend. She's been pregnant, he knows that - they just don't talk about the months she wasn't around. It's ridiculous, really, he thinks. They've known each other for long enough that he should know but he doesn't.

Louis walks over to the table and picks up the first magazine in the pile. It's some sort of celebrity gossip magazine, all neon pink and yellow. He recognises some of the names, some of the faces, but they might as well be from another planet for all the relevance they have to his life.

"Sit down if you like," Lou says, guiding him out of the way so she can put away the hairspray. "You're not going to crease those trousers."

"Don't want to risk it," Louis says. He flicks through the magazine and wonders if any of the faces looking back at him have been here. Some of them, at least, must have been, he thinks. Budding pop stars, people Simon wanted to impress or do a deal with. Louis tends not to remember faces. He picks up another magazine; fashion, this time.

"Zayn'd look good in that," he says, holding a page up for Lou to see. She nods.

"Yeah, he would. He's got the legs to pull that off."

"Are you saying I haven't?" Louis says, mock-offended.

Lou sticks her tongue out at him. "You can pull off things he can't, babe."

The third magazine is another gossip rag. Louis flicks through a few pages but he doesn't recognise anyone. Then he turns over a page and sees a face he remembers all too well.

The rush of sense memory hits him like a punch in the gut. A voice and a steady drip-drip of insidious words into his head. A warm hand on his back, his face, the illusion of kindness in every touch. Louis feels sick.

"All right?" Lou asks, concerned. She takes the magazine out of his hands and sets it down. "Sit down. Want a glass of water?"

"Please," Louis croaks. He takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to get the nausea under control. He can't be sick now.

Lou comes back with his water and sits with him while he sips it. She doesn't ask but Louis knows she saw what he was reading. She's too kind to say anything though.

He feels better after a while, his stomach finally settling. "I'm ok now," he says with more confidence than he feels.

"You sure?" Lou asks, frowning. "You still look shit."

"Thanks," Louis says dryly.

"You know what I mean, idiot." Lou stands up. "He won't be able to tell but you don't want to be sick on his shoes, do you?"

Louis' stomach clenches at the thought. "No. But I won't. I'm ok."

Lou rifles through the unread magazines and pulls out another one. "Here. Read this one."

Louis squints at the cover. "Is that Good Housekeeping?"

Lou rolls her eyes at him. "No, but it has got stuff about houses. Just read it. You never know; you might get bought by some millionaire who wants you as a pool boy."

"Oh, that's something to aspire to, is it?" Louis says sarcastically. He takes the magazine though.

"Better than being here," Lou says. "Maybe. It'd just be one person."

"Depends who the one person is though, doesn't it?" Louis points out, biting back the urge to point out that she has no idea what it's like anyway. How can she? He doesn’t blame her for it but it’s galling to be lectured on how he should feel by someone who has no idea what it feels like to have your autonomy systematically stripped away and then rented back to you, only to be taken away again on a whim.

"It could be someone nice. Someone who treats you properly."

"Or it could be a complete arsehole who treats me like shit and really gets off on hearing me scream," Louis says flatly. "At least here I can take my chances."

Lou gives him a sad smile. "Sorry, Louis."

"For what? It's ok." Louis opens the magazine at random and squints at the page. "There you go, I could live there. Look at that pool."

Lou leans over to look. "That what's you've got your eye on, is it? A pool? Yeah, very nice."

"You should get a pool," Louis says - and yeah, that's skirting the edges of what they're allowed to talk about. Louis can't help glancing at the doorway, just to see if anyone's openly listening.

Lou snorts derisively. "Closest I get is a paddling pool. Or puddles when it rains and the garden fills up." Then, apparently realising too that they're walking a dangerous line, she straightens up and moves away. "Want some more water?"

“No, it’s ok. Thanks.”

Louis looks up abruptly as the door opens. It's Paul, grim-faced. Louis gets to his feet.

"Ready?" Paul asks, without preamble.

"Yes." There's no other answer Louis can give. He puts the magazine back with the others and follows Paul.

Simon is standing by the window when Paul lets him into the guest suite, talking on his phone. Louis waits, fighting the urge to fidget with his new clothes. Simon hasn't acknowledged his arrival but Louis knows he's being watched all the same. Scrutinised for whatever tiny flaws Simon can use against him later. He holds himself still and keeps his breathing steady and even and he waits. And waits. It takes every bit of willpower Louis possesses not to move.

Finally the phone conversation draws to a close and Simon pockets his phone and then he looks over at Louis and says simply, "Come here."

Louis goes over to him. His mouth is dry and he licks his lips, hoping it doesn't make him look too nervous. He is nervous though, more nervous than he's been in a while. It’s been a long time since anything had him so thoroughly rattled.

“Did you sleep well?” Simon asks.

“Yes, Sir.” Louis keeps his voice low, his eyes fixed firmly on Simon’s left collarbone.

Simon’s hand rests on the side of his neck, his thumb pressing against Louis’ throat, right over his Adam’s apple. Louis tries to stay calm but his heart rate spikes, his body flooding with adrenaline. It wouldn’t take much, he thinks dizzily. A little more pressure and that would be it. And no one would care. No one would ask questions. Just another dead slave.

“Come with me, Louis.” Simon’s voice is soft but it’s not a request: Louis walks over to the wall mirror with Simon’s hand on the nape of his neck and when they get there Simon uses the grip he has on Louis to pull him into the position he wants.

Louis stares resolutely at his own reflection and tries not to look at Simon behind him, tries not to flinch when Simon’s other hand settles on his hip.

“Look at you,” Simon says, very quietly. “What do you see, Louis? What do you see in the mirror?”

_A painted doll_ , Louis thinks. He casts around for the answer he thinks Simon wants to hear today. “Yours?” he hazards.

Simon sighs. “You see _nothing_ , Louis,” he says. His hand moves; his fingers dig into Louis’ jaw, holding Louis’ head still. “You see nothing because you are nothing, aren’t you?”

Louis swallows thickly. “Yes, Sir,” he mumbles.

Simon’s fingers dig in painfully hard. “What are you?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

He hears Simon exhale, feels the pressure on his jaw ease a little. “That’s better,” Simon says. “I don’t want you to forget that, Louis. I don’t want you to forget what you are.”

“I don’t. I won’t.” Louis hears the edge of panic in his own voice and curses his lack of self-control.

“Because sometimes I think that you do,” Simon continues, as if Louis hasn’t spoken. “Sometimes I think you forget what I saved you from. I paid over the odds for you, for what you’re worth.”

“I know, Sir,” Louis says numbly. The hand on his hip is moving, unfastening the buttons of his trousers, easing the fabric down over his hips.

“Do you think I’m getting my money’s worth?” Simon asks. His hand grazes Louis’ limp cock and Louis can’t stop the whimper that escapes his lips.

“I- I hope so, Sir,” he manages.

“Do you now,” Simon says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And yet, compared to the others, you’re worthless, are you? Can’t even get it up any more. Pathetic.”

Louis swallows again, tears pricking his eyes.

“Despite all that, I bring you a treat,” Simon continues. “Which you don’t deserve, incidentally, but you didn’t seem to appreciate it at all.”

“I am grateful, Sir,” Louis says frantically. “I am, really. T-thank you.”

He feels rather than sees Simon nod. “We’ll see how grateful you are.” The hand moves again and Louis’ trousers puddle around his ankles. “Get undressed.”

He’s trembling - _pathetic_ , he thinks viciously - and it’s clumsy as he kicks off the trousers and unfastens the shirt. Simon’s just watching him with that same inscrutable expression he always has and Louis doesn’t know whether this is all a precursor to Simon telling him he’s been sold or whether he’s going to be able to make it up to him. He wants to make it up to him, wants it so badly. Wants to be as good as he can be, good enough to keep.

Simon settles in a chair and beckons Louis over. “On the floor,” is all he says, and then Louis sees the lube and the toys on the table next to Simon’s chair and his heart starts hammering in his chest all over again. This is retribution for last night, for everything he wouldn’t do to Harry, and there’s nothing - _nothing_ \- Louis can do to change it or make it any easier.

Because Simon is right: he’s nothing.

***

Paul comes to get him when Simon’s gone. Louis doesn’t have any sense of time passing: it could be ten minutes, it could be an hour. All he knows is that one minute he’s alone and the next minute there’s someone else in the room and he whimpers, high in his throat, before Paul pats his arm and says, “It’s me, Louis.”

Louis is so, so cold and the floor is hard and unyielding and he can’t do anything except lie in a sprawled, undignified heap while Paul moves around the room. His head hurts and he wants to be sick but his stomach hurts too and he doesn’t want to vomit again. Paul comes back with a blanket from the bed and drapes it over him and Louis wants to cry out of gratitude; pathetic, wretched gratitude.

“Back in a minute, Louis. Stay still.”

_Like I’m going anywhere_ , Louis thinks hazily. But he doesn’t say it. He’s not sure he’s capable of words any more.

Paul comes back with Zayn and this time Louis very nearly does cry once Paul moves away to give them some privacy and Zayn pushes the blanket back so he can get a better look at Louis.

“Can you move or does it hurt?” Zayn asks.

Louis closes his eyes and whimpers again. He’s cramping around the _thing_ inside him and he just wants it out, wants the awful soul-searing pain to stop, but every time he moves it hurts so much and he just _can’t_ -

“It’s ok,” Zayn says soothingly. “I’ve got it, yeah.”

Louis bites his lip, hard, when Zayn gets a grip on it and starts to slowly, slowly ease it out of Louis. It doesn’t come easily and it feels like he’s being torn apart but Zayn keeps up a litany of reassurance, his free hand rubbing circles on Louis’ back, and finally it’s out and - fuck, it hurts and he feels so empty and exhausted and _shattered_.

“He’s ok,” he hears Zayn tell Paul, but he’s not, not really.

They take him to the communal shower to clean him up, Paul solving the problem of getting him there by simply bundling him up in the blanket and carrying him. Zayn holds him underneath the spray and Louis hisses when the hot water hits the abrasions on his skin but it feels good all the same.

“You’re ok,” Zayn tells him, over and again, and Louis tries to believe it.

“What do you want to do with him?” Paul asks when they’re out of the shower and Zayn is towelling him dry.

“I’ll stay with him,” Zayn says.

“You sure he’s ok? He looks like shit.”

Louis shudders and Zayn’s there, not crowding him, not touching too much, just _there_. “He’s ok,” Zayn repeats. “He just needs to sleep. He needs the space.”

Paul carries him upstairs and puts him in bed and Louis whimpers because he’s cold again and it still hurts, inside, but then Zayn is there too, his voice a lullaby in Louis’ ears, the warm press of his fingertips against Louis’ hand an anchor in the dark, and Louis finally gives in to exhaustion and sleeps.

***

The voices bring him back, one familiar, one less so. Faint at first, and then more insistent as Louis slowly emerges from slumber. They’re trying to be quiet - but not doing a particularly good job.

“You’re going to wake him up, you know,” Zayn says.

“I just want to make sure he’s ok.” And that’s Harry, his voice deeper and more raspy than Louis remembers. “What happened to him?”

“What do you _think_ happened?” Louis can hear the exasperation in Zayn’s voice. “You stirred it up with Simon; Louis caught it.”

“Did he- what did he do? Should he be in a hospital?”

The rising note of panic in Harry’s voice seems to only add to Zayn’s irritation. “No. He’s ok. He’ll be fine, yeah? Simon just fucks with his head. He’s not- he’s not hurt bad. Physically.”

“I’m still here,” Louis says, opening his eyes, and, shit, his voice is croaky and embarrassingly weak, and he tries to sit up and nearly screams.

“Don’t move, you twat,” Zayn says. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept much. Louis squints at the clock. It’s midday.

“I love you too.” Louis rubs his throat, where Simon held him. He has no idea whether it’s bruised or not. He aches everywhere but Zayn’s right; he’s not really that badly hurt. Except inside, where Simon made him fuck himself with the dildo coated in the stuff Louis dreads, the stuff that stings and burns for hours afterwards. Louis doesn’t know what it is - it doesn’t smell of much and the bottle it’s in is unmarked - but even the threat of it is usually enough to make him readily comply with anything Simon wants him to do.

And he still feels sick, and uncomfortable, and self-conscious about Harry seeing him like this, used and pathetic and _weak_.

“Can- can I do anything?” Harry asks.

“Like what?” Zayn says bluntly.

“I don’t know. Make him lunch or something.”

“You can really help by just fucking off,” Zayn snaps. “You’ve done enough already.”

Harry looks like he’s going to cry - and wouldn’t _that_ be just perfect, Louis thinks - but then he nods and runs to the door and is gone.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, and then Zayn comes to sit on the bed next to Louis.

“Was I too harsh?”

Louis closes his eyes. “Maybe.”

Another silence, and then Zayn says, “There’s another party tonight.” He coughs. “You’re excused.”

“That’s kind of him,” Louis says sarcastically. He’s torn between relief - the thought of being fucked again tonight makes him wince - and dread. Not being asked for means not being wanted, and not being wanted is the first step towards being discarded.

“Yeah, well.” Zayn seems about to say something and stops.

Louis squints at him. “What?”

Zayn sighs. “He’s asked for Harry,” he says. “And Liam and Niall. So it’s me and you on FIFA tonight.”

“Oh,” Louis says. “Right.”

“I know you’re all Mother Bear over him…”

“I am not Mother-anything-”

“But he has to learn sometime, right?” Zayn is looking at him with something between concern and insistence, like he wants to make sure Louis understands, and, yeah, Louis does. He knows Harry’s going to get fucked up as thoroughly as the rest of them sooner or later; it’s not like he can stop it happening. He just wishes he didn’t have that hollow-cold-sick feeling in his belly every time he thinks about it, that’s all.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning dawns clear and sunny and after sleeping for nearly twenty four hours Louis is awake far earlier than he usually is. By half past nine he’s sitting out on the patio eating breakfast with Liam, listening to the morning freight train rumble past the house.

“Is it me or is it late?” he asks idly, pointing towards where the train carriages are just visible over the top of the hedge.

Liam shrugs. “Half an hour late? Not much.”

In all the time Louis’ been at the house, the morning train has never been late, as far as he knows. He doesn’t make a point of looking out for it and often he’s asleep when it rumbles past, but some part of him must register its passing, because the one day it hadn’t run at all - the previous winter when it had snowed so heavily everything stopped - he’d woken from sleep, confused by the lack of noise. The lateness now is a little thing - it shouldn’t mean anything. But it does and it grates at Louis; it’s another small change to the norm, insignificant on its own, that builds to a bigger and more disturbing picture. Louis tips his head back and looks up at the blue, cloudless sky. There are no planes passing overhead, but that’s not unusual. The house doesn’t sit under any flight-paths and the only aeroplanes they ever really see are military jets, flying fast and low over the valley. Louis can’t put his finger on what’s wrong but something is.

“Did you watch the news this morning?” he asks Liam.

“No; signal’s on the blink again,” Liam says, cutting his toast into neat triangles. “Wish Simon’d just put cable in. It wouldn’t cost that much.”

Diverted, Louis says, “He’s not going to spend that on us though. And you know what he’d say: we don’t need to watch the news because it’s nothing to do with us.”

“S’all right for him,” Liam grumbles. “He’s only here a few times a month.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Louis narrows his eyes: there’s a man he doesn’t recognise walking around the perimeter of the estate. A new security guard, he thinks. Simon likes to change them around from time to time and Louis suspects is part of the reason is that Simon doesn’t want the boys to get too comfortable with them. Keeping his voice casual, he adds, “You ok this morning?”

Liam gives him a look that tells Louis he’s not being subtle as he thinks he is. “Fine. You didn’t miss that much. We weren’t invited to dinner.”

“Who got Simon?” Louis presses. He’s trying not to make it obvious that he’s asking about Harry but he suspects Liam can guess.

“Niall.”

Louis exhales, partly out of relief that Simon didn’t take Harry, and partly because Simon always treats Niall better than he treats the rest of them. “Did you fuck Harry, then?”

Liam shakes his head. “No.” A pause and then, “I think he’s fine. She, um, she was ok with him. I think. He didn’t seem that upset, anyway. Afterwards.”

“Right,” Louis says. He’s not really sure what he feels: relief maybe, or apprehension that there’s going to be a next time, that Simon is just putting off the inevitable, lulling them into a false sense of security before he gets his own back on Harry too. That would be just Simon’s style. He bites back his next question: he’ll have to think of a way of asking Harry about his first time, without it sounding like he cares.

“Simon’s going back to London tomorrow” Liam continues. “So Niall said.”

“Lucky for us.” Louis taps his fingers idly against the table between them. “Anything happening tonight?”

“Not as far as I know, but it’s early yet.” Liam gives him a sly smile. “Why? Zayn thrash you at FIFA last night?”

“Fuck off did he.”

Liam grins.

Louis finishes his breakfast and then he goes back into the house, leaving Liam to go for a run round the estate. He finds Niall sitting on the stairs, repetitively flicking a screwed-up ball of paper at the wall. Louis eyes him carefully but Niall looks ok, nothing to be concerned about. He smiles at Louis as he moves out of the way to let him past.

“You should get breakfast,” Louis tells him.

“Had it,” Niall says smugly. “While you were still sleeping. Fry-up.”

Louis groans. “Fuck off.”

Niall smirks. “Any time you want to drop off the rabbit food, you let me know.”

“It’s not rabbit food,” Louis says defensively. “It’s just -healthy eating.”

“Rabbit food.”

“Maybe.” Great: now Louis is craving bacon. And sausages. And beans. “Some of us are trying to look after ourselves.” _Some of us are getting old_.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Diva.”

Louis flicks his ear, laughing when Niall yelps and flinches. He runs upstairs before Niall can get his revenge though.

It’s quiet on the upstairs landing. Louis hesitates at the top of the stairs. He could go and see Zayn - his bedroom door is closed, meaning he’s in there and might open up if Louis knocks. Or he could go back to his own room for a bit, make the most of the free time before tonight. Or-

-Harry’s door is closed but not all the way. Louis will take that as an invitation. If Harry doesn’t already know the house etiquette, Louis reasons that this will serve as a lesson.

The door to Harry’s room opens easily under his hand to reveal, well, not much really. It’s far too soon for Harry to have anything other than a bed. His clothes are stacked in a neat pile against the wall, his shoes lined up neatly next to the stack. And Harry himself is a lump in the bed; Louis can hear him snoring quietly under the blankets.

Grinning to himself, Louis walks over to the window and glances out. Harry doesn’t have quite as good a view as he does but it’s still better than the other three rooms, which just look out over the service area with its bins and storage sheds. From here he can see out to the little side gate that leads out onto the road; a glimpse of asphalt through the bars. Nothing else to see, of course; the valley the house sits in is so densely wooded Louis has no idea whether there are even any other houses nearby. He’s never bothered asking, not wanting to draw attention to himself by asking a question that could be construed as taking too much of an interest in the outside world.

Harry turns over in his sleep, still snoring. An arm flails out of the blankets. Louis didn’t think it was possible to snore while lying on your front but Harry, at least, can manage it. He catches himself smiling and mentally slaps himself.

He needs to stop finding Harry endearing: it’s not safe for either of them.

Annoyed at himself, Louis leaves Harry to sleep and goes back to his own room.

 

***

 

Harry wakes up in time for lunch - or maybe Niall wakes him up, because they arrive together, bumbling into the room like a pair of excitable toddlers and nearly knocking the plates out of Liam's hands as they do so.

"Careful," he scolds them. Niall sticks his tongue out at him but Harry, at least, makes the effort to look contrite.

"Sorry," he says.

Liam tries to look stern, which lasts just about as long as it takes Niall to pinch him. "Oi! Just sit down. I'll bring your plates over."

Niall drops into a seat next to Zayn and peers over at the sketch Zayn has in front of him. "What's that?"

Zayn glances up at Louis, eyes creasing in silent amusement. "Just something I'm drawing for Louis," he tells Niall.

"How'd you get the paper?" Niall asks.

Zayn lifts it, shows him the reverse. "Lining paper. Preston got it for me when they re-did the wallpaper in the third guestroom."

"That's really good," Harry says, wide-eyed.

"Thanks." Zayn smiles up at Liam as his plate is put down on the table. "It's just a sketch."

"It's good though," Harry says earnestly. "I couldn't draw like that." He's not looking at Louis. Louis isn't sure whether Liam's had that talk with him or not but he's torn between feeling relieved that Harry isn't gazing at him as intently as he's gazing at Zayn, and feeling insulted by the lack of attention. "Can you draw people?"

"He draws Louis," Liam says, passing out Niall and Harry's food before taking his own seat next to Louis. "And me, sometimes."

"He doesn't like me drawing him," Zayn confides to Harry in a mock-whisper.

"It's not that I mind," Liam protests. "I just- It's just-"

"Awkward?" Louis prompts. "Distracting because you'd rather he was holding something other than a pen?"

"Louis," Liam groans, elbowing him. Niall and Zayn are laughing but Louis notices that Harry isn't; he looks like he's trying to work it out, like he doesn't quite understand their dynamic.

"You could draw _on_ him," Niall suggests.

"Like a tattoo?" Louis forks a mouthful of food into his mouth. He's not even sure what it is - some sort of stew, no doubt nutritionally balanced because it suits Simon to keep them all as healthy as possible, but bland and tasteless.

"Yeah, why not?" Niall doesn't seem as bothered by the lack of taste as the rest of them; the food disappears without him apparently needing to pause to breathe.

Liam is looking at Zayn's wrist, where the bruises are starting to fade. "You'd look good with a tattoo," he says slowly. He reaches out to brush his finger against Zayn's skin.

Niall snorts, breaking the spell. "Good luck with that, lads. Simon'd never go for you getting tattoos."

"I've got one," Harry says, unexpectedly.

They all stare at him. Harry blushes a little under their surprised gazes.

"Here," he says, rolling his sleeve up. They stare at the black outline of a star on his upper arm.

Louis recovers first. "Well," he says. "That's very artistic. Did your last owner want that done?"

Harry blinks.

"He didn't have one," Niall says around a mouthful of stew, breaking the awkward silence. "He's really new to this."

"You mean you were ... free?" Zayn articulates it first, while the rest of them are still trying to find the words.

Harry nods, blushing again like he's embarrassed, and Louis almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous the situation is.

"How old are you?" Liam asks.

"Nineteen."

Older than Louis thought, but then the longest period he's spent looking at Harry so far has been while Liam was fucking him so he thinks that counts as an excuse. He eyes Harry thoughtfully. He’s far too old to have been sold to pay off a debt - the most common reason apart from being born into it - which doesn’t leave many reasons for the collar around his neck.

Zayn apparently has the same thought. "So what did you do?" he asks. "To end up here."

Louis gives him a warning glance. They don't usually ask, but then they've never needed to, before. Everyone's had much the same story.

Harry looks down at his food. "I was, um, handing out leaflets. And they arrested me and. I thought I was going to court but then I wasn't. And Simon came to see me. And then I was in a car and I don't remember a lot after that." He stops and looks at Louis, just for a moment, like he's begging Louis to help him out.

There are blanks in the story - it's not even the bare bones of a story - but Louis can tell Harry doesn't want to discuss it and, anyway, Louis can fill in enough details by himself, just from what he remembers of the world outside - and tries to forget - and what is implied in Harry's tone and the things he doesn't say.

"Watch it, Niall," Louis barks. "You're going to knock that glass over."

He isn't, but that's not the point. Zayn gets the hint; he starts teasing Niall about the antique vase he'd knocked off the mantelpiece in the hallway once, only saved by Liam's lightning-fast reactions. The conversation moves on, Harry's story already forgotten. Louis pretends he hasn't noticed Harry's grateful look.

"Please tell me there's some of that ice cream left," Niall says as Liam gets up to clear the plates away.

"Do I look like the housekeeper?" Liam says exasperatedly. "Look for yourself."

"I'll get it." It gives Louis an excuse to stand up anyway. He's aware of Harry watching him and he hates the scrutiny because he knows Harry is looking for evidence of what Simon had him do, evidence of weakness. "There's half a tub at the back of the freezer."

"We should be able to order food in," Niall says as Zayn gets up too to get bowls out of the cupboard.

"Why? None of us can cook anyway." Liam stacks the used plates in the sink. "This stuff, at least we only have to heat it up. What flavour ice cream is it?"

"Strawberry."

"I can cook," Harry offers.

Zayn snorts. "I'd keep that one quiet," he says. "Someone might decide to buy you off Simon."

Harry's eager expression drops. "C-could that happen?"

Zayn shrugs. "'Course it could. For the right price."

"What if I don't want to go?"

They all stare at him, and again Louis wants to laugh but he doesn't because it's painful how _innocent_ Harry is, how oblivious he is to the reality of his new life.

"Harry," Liam says gently. "It doesn't matter what you want."

"If Simon wants to sell you, he'll sell you," Zayn adds. "Just hope it's not to some bastard who-" He stops, glancing nervously at Liam.

"Some twat who wears too much after-shave." Louis smiles brightly at Harry, wanting desperately to put some colour back into Harry's suddenly-pale cheeks. But he never gets a chance to finish his sentence, because the door swings open and Paul strides in, shrugging off his jacket as he walks. He halts in front of their table, eyes them all in turn.

"You," he says, looking at Louis. "And you." He turns his head to look at Harry.

Louis nods, resigned. He'd expected it.

"And you." Paul nods at Niall, last. "Liam and Zayn, you have a night off."

"Lucky boys," Louis says under his breath. Paul gives him a sharp look.

"Be ready by three."

He strides out again, the door slamming to behind him. Louis looks at the clock and sighs. "We need to get ready."

"It's two hours yet," Harry protests.

Louis turns to Liam. "He did do yesterday, right?"

"He did." Liam looks unusually worried, which doesn't help Louis' nerves. "But Simon didn't want us too dressed up last night."

"Louis' right," Niall tells Harry. "We need to get ready now. Can't risk being late for Simon."

Harry's brow furrows but Louis doesn't have the patience to explain it to him all over again. He gets hold of his arm, just above the elbow, and half-guides, half-drags Harry to the door. Harry goes with him easily enough but Louis can feel the confusion practically radiating off him.

"Do I need to change or-" he asks once they're in the hallway.

"No." Since Harry seems happy enough to follow, Louis relinquishes his grip on his arm. "Shower first. This way," he adds when Harry starts to head for the stairs. “No point going upstairs.”

Niall strips off for the showers without a trace of self-consciousness. Louis would rather not have Harry see him under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting but he tells himself it doesn't really matter: if the evening goes the way he thinks it will then Harry's going to be seeing plenty of him anyway. He turns away, anyway, so that Harry only sees his back, and heads into the shower itself before Harry has finished undressing so he can claim the spot in the far corner.

The new security guard is outside. Louis isn't sure he likes the look of him now he’s seen him up close; the man looks at him in a way that sets every alarm bell ringing. He tells himself he's being an idiot, that there's no way a guard is going to dare to try and take advantage of any of them. They belong to Simon, after all; reserved for his use.

"What happened to your back?" Harry asks Niall. Louis looks round, concerned, but Niall looks unworried by the question, ducking his head under the spray before answering.

"Tried to escape," he says.

Harry's hand hovers over Niall's shoulder-blade, not quite touching the faded criss-cross scars. "How long ago?" he asks tensely.

"Five years, nearly six." Niall gives him a sunny grin. "Learned my lesson."

"Did it happen here?"

Niall shakes his head, sending water droplets everywhere. "No. Owner before the one who sold me to Simon."

"A man of few words, right, Niall?" Louis interjects.

"Something like that, yeah."

"That's terrible," Harry says quietly. He draws his hand back and turns to Louis, and Louis is taken aback how stricken Harry looks. "That's-"

"How it is," Louis says ruthlessly. "Remind me tomorrow to show you what happens if you try to escape from here."

He's not looking at Harry, naked and with water cascading over his shoulders. He's not. He turns back into his corner, ducks his head under the spray and scrubs aggressively at his face and tries to ignore the two of them talking quietly behind him. He doesn't know how it's going to go tonight. How many guests Simon even has staying over tonight. It's always hard to predict: sometimes Simon will bring down a party and they'll stay for a long weekend or even a week - Louis hates those because they tend to get asked for during the day too and the boys get no time to themselves - and sometimes it'll just be Simon who's the constant, others staying for a night or two before disappearing back to their real lives. Louis doesn't mind that so much.

Once they're dry they go through into Lou's room. She looks them over, dispassionately, professional, and points at Niall.

"You first. Your hair needs cutting."

Niall pulls a face but does what he's told.

"You need a shave," she tells Louis before turning to Harry. "And you need a haircut too but you'll have to wait until I've done Niall."

"I can wait," Harry assures her. He perches on a chair, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness. On that front, at least, Louis thinks, he's dealing with it well.

"Get yourself ready," Lou tells Louis as an afterthought. He nods, and then, because he wants to and not just because Harry is sitting right there and he doesn't want Harry to see it, he grabs the bottle of lube off the shelf and goes back into the shower room. And it's ridiculous, he knows it is. Either tonight or sometime soon, Simon's going to have Harry fuck him; that's as inevitable as the sun coming up in the morning. Harry's going to see him humiliated; he already _has_.

He just wants to hold on to a little dignity for a while longer, that's all.

 

***

 

The waiting is the worst. Having to keep up the pretence of not really caring what's going to happen, when really his stomach is churning and it feels like he can't get enough oxygen into his lungs. Even Niall goes quiet, after the first hour, subdued.

By mutual consent they don't go back into the main part of the house but sit in the anteroom instead, perched on the uncomfortable plastic chairs and taking it in turns to read the fishing magazine one of the guards has left behind. It's easily the most boring magazine Louis has ever read but it's either that or stare at the wall so he makes the most of it.

He's also very deliberately trying not to take too much notice of Harry, but it's difficult, because Harry looks good in the clothes picked out for him. _Really_ good. The tight black jeans cling to his long, long legs, and the deep burgundy shirt teamed with it sets off his colouring to perfection. There's a feeling there, lodged behind his ribs, that Louis doesn't want to examine too closely.

They all look up when the door opens; by that time they're all on edge and desperate for something, _anything,_ to happen to break the monotony of waiting. Harry gets to his feet, fidgeting awkwardly like a little boy on his first day of school. Paul gives him an assessing look before turning to Louis.

"Time."

Louis nods, and stands up, Niall close behind him as they follow Paul from the room, Harry trailing in their wake. He hears music as they cross the hallway; Liam and Zayn enjoying their night off. Louis grits his teeth and keeps walking, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and not on how much he wants to run upstairs to his own room and hide in his bed. _Stop being an idiot_ , he tells himself. _You know how to do this. It's easy_.

It is easy, until the door opens to the dining room and Simon's there, and Louis knows the two men with him: they're in business with Simon - Louis has never bothered to find out how, exactly - and they've been to the house many times before. He plasters a neutral expression on his face and stands waiting, hands crossed behind his back. Niall lines up next to him, falling easily into the same stance. Harry looks confused for a moment and then, when Paul gives him a non-too gentle push, falls into line too.

"Evening, boys," Simon drawls, looking them over carefully. The other two - Zayn calls them Bill and Ben, although Louis doesn’t get the reference - are doing the same. Inspecting the merchandise. Louis stares straight ahead, focusing on a speck of dust on one of the wall lamps.

"This is the new one, then?" Bill asks, gesturing at Harry. "Very nice."

In his peripheral vision, Louis sees Harry's leg jerk, and he wonders if Harry is remembering their earlier conversation, whether he has visions of being sold off tonight. It’s not an unreasonable fear but Louis doesn’t think Simon is going to sell Harry any time soon.

"How old is he?" Ben asks, gazing at Harry with obvious interest.

"How old are you, Harry?" Simon prompts.

"N-nineteen," Harry says. His voice is strained but Louis is impressed how calm he sounds. Though as far as Louis knows it hasn't been too bad for him so far. He's had no real reason to feel afraid.

They're conferring amongst themselves, their voices too low for Louis to be able to work out what's being said. He can hear Niall's shallow breathing and Louis risks a gentle elbow against his arm to calm him down. Simon looks up as he’s moving away. Louis doesn't think he saw but it's always hard to tell with Simon.

He looks at Niall though. "Come here," he says simply.

Niall goes over to him, is drawn down onto Simon's lap, a hand holding his hip to keep him in place. It leaves Louis and Harry standing. Louis' mouth is dry with apprehension.

Simon leans back in his chair and regards them both with open amusement. "You look good together, boys," he says.

Louis swallows awkwardly.

Simon waves a hand at the table, laid for dinner - for three - on one side but empty on theirs. "Fuck him," he tells Harry.

Louis lets out what he hopes is a subtle sigh of relief. He can do this. This is easy. Harry, though-

"What?"

Simon's eyes narrow. "What, _Sir_."

Louis risks a quick sideways glance at Harry. He's still standing in his odd, awkward pose but there's an edge of defiance to him too, enough to make Louis' heart sink. He's going to get them both in the shit, if Louis doesn't do something about it.

"It's ok, Sir," he says, pitching his voice somewhere between authoritative and deferential. "He doesn't know what to do. Do you, Harry?" The last is said with a note of warning he hopes Harry understands. _Shut up, do what you're told, let me deal with this_.

Simon still looks amused rather than angry and he nods, and that's all the permission Louis needs. He knows there's no way Harry is just going to get on with it, the way Liam or Zayn would if it was one or both of them and not him. He takes a deep breath, nervously smooths down his shirt, and turns to Harry, closing the gap between them.

Harry watches him move closer, and Louis sees the exact moment when confusion turns to realisation. Harry doesn't move away, though. Doesn't put his hands up to stop Louis as Louis presses up close against him, manoeuvring Harry back against the wall so Louis can keep him still.

Eye contact, that's the trick. Louis looks up at Harry, focuses on him and only him, trying to convey everything he needs to make Harry understand. _Don't look at them_ , he wills. _Just look at me. Focus on me_. 

Harry sighs, very softly, and his body goes slack, his hands somehow coming to rest on Louis' hips. Louis shuffles in closer, so that they're pressed together from chest to foot, their faces inches apart.

"Trust me," he says, very softly, almost breathing the words into Harry's mouth. He doesn't wait for Harry's reply; he slides a hand over Harry's chest, rubbing gently around his nipple. Louis can't help smiling as he sees Harry's pupils dilate in response.

"You like that?"

Harry swallows thickly. "Y-yes."

It's almost redundant - Louis can feel Harry getting hard against him - but to hear him admit it, to see his eyelids flicker when Louis does it again, to see and feel how responsive Harry is to Louis' touch, kicks that odd, unsettling feeling under Louis' ribcage up a notch or ten, and this time there's no hiding from what that feeling is.

He likes Harry.

He _wants_ Harry.

He doesn’t want Harry like this, on display for their owner, nothing more than cheap entertainment.

He doesn’t have a choice.

Louis' good at detaching himself though, at taking himself outside whatever he's doing or what's being done to him, and this is something that has to be done and done well. His fingers hover over the buttons of Harry’s shirt. “Can I?”

Harry nods, barely breathing. Louis smiles at him and deftly unfastens his shirt, sliding it down over his shoulders to pool at his feet.

"That's better," he says teasingly, and Harry, to his overwhelming relief, manages to smile.

"C-can I-"

"Later," Louis says, and he presses in close again before Harry has a chance to argue, letting his hand rest on Harry's chest, right over his heart. He can feel the rapid beat, the staccato breaths Harry is taking. Anticipation, hopefully, not fear. He makes sure Harry's looking at him again, really _seeing_ him, before he says, very softly, "Trust me, yeah.?"

Harry looks at him for a long moment before he says, “Yeah.”

Harry's eyes stay on him as he slides down to his knees, wide and questioning and something more. He starts to say something when Louis' hands go to his belt buckle but the words never leave his lips and he lets Louis unfasten his belt and ease his jeans down. Louis moves to get a hand on his cock before Harry can even begin to feel self-conscious about being watched; he needs Harry focused on him, too overwhelmed by Louis to even think about the men watching them. By the way Harry's head thuds back against the wall when Louis places an open-mouthed kiss to the flushed head of his cock, he thinks he's succeeded.

Louis shifts his position, making himself more comfortable. It gives him time to think, too. He'd intended to suck Harry off, get him worked up enough that it'd be over quickly, but Harry is already worked up, trembling under the hand Louis has on his hip, and Louis doesn't think he can risk it. He strokes Harry slowly, deliberately, letting the needy, plaintive sounds Harry makes wash over him like tiny kisses while he listens with half an ear to what's being said behind him. They're getting impatient, frustrated that they can't see clearly. Louis reaches his decision.

Harry whimpers when Louis lets go of him and stands up; he reaches blindly for Louis, distressed. "It's ok," Louis reassures him. "It's ok." He leads Harry a step back, so that the edge of the table presses against the back of his legs, and quickly strips off his shirt and trousers, trying to maintain the eye contact with Harry. He half-hears a mocking comment but he ignores it: Harry is all that matters right now.

Harry is staring at him as he lies back on the table, legs drawn up. Louis knows he's not that naive; he knows - he _must_ know - what happens next. "Come on," he encourages, reaching out for Harry.

Harry shuffles closer, not looking away from Louis for a moment. He's still hard, to Louis' relief. "Do- do you- do I need to do anything?"

"No." The lube he used on himself is probably going tacky by now but it'll be enough; Harry is bigger than a lot of the guests but Louis knows his own limits. "Just- come on. Want you inside me." It's not even a lie.

Harry blushes. "Oh- ok," he says, his voice more than a little breathless. "Yes." He moves in closer still, a large hand settling on Louis' knee. "Can- can I touch you?"

Louis bites back his immediate - sarcastic - response and nods instead. "Yeah, you can touch me."

Harry still hesitates though, thumbing the inside of Louis' knee like he's not sure what to do next.

"I want you to touch me," Louis modifies.

Harry gives him a shy, soft smile at that, and, ok, Louis will hate himself later for drawing Harry into the illusion that this is more than it is, but for now his words are needed. Emboldened, Harry is running his fingers lightly down the inside of Louis' thigh, watching closely to gauge Louis' reaction to his touch. He hesitates for a second at the crease of Louis' hip, biting his lip uncertainly.

"Is- should I-"

Louis realises, belatedly, the source of Harry's confusion. "Don't worry about it," he says, reaching down to move Harry's hand away from his cock.

Harry glances down to where Louis has hold of his hand, and then back up to Louis' face. "But you-"

"Don't worry about it," Louis repeats. "Just- I want you inside me, ok?" Harry is still staring at him and it's what Louis wanted - he needed Harry's attention on him and only him - but it's terrifying, all of a sudden, like Harry is stripping away all the layers and layers of protection Louis has wrapped tightly around his soul, exposing the very core of him to the light of day. "Now," he adds, with more than a hint of desperation in his voice. "Please. Please, Harry." His voice breaks on Harry's name and maybe that, more than anything, pushes Harry over the edge.

Louis keeps his eyes open when Harry slowly, oh so slowly, enters him, not wanting to look away and break the spell. And Harry doesn't look away either, his gaze fixed and intent on Louis and only Louis. There are words on Louis' lips - trite, meaningless words of reassurance and guidance he might have used with any other newcomer - but they all go unspoken because he has nothing that encapsulates how he feels, nothing that captures how overwhelmed he is, by everything, by Harry.

Harry stops moving when their bodies are flush against each other, just holding still, letting Louis adjust to him. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, whether to touch Louis or whether to brace himself against the table top, and something about the very awkwardness of it rips the tear in Louis’ heart a little wider. He reaches up, cups Harry’s cheek with his hand.

“You’re doing fine,” he tells him, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re doing good. Just move. Slowly.”

Harry nods, and it’s fine, it’s going to be fine, Louis thinks - and then a harsh voice cuts into their little cocoon.

“Fuck him, that’s what you were told. Get on with it.”

Harry's breath stutters and his eyes flicker anxiously from Louis' face to the men watching them. “Hey,” Louis says softly, stroking Harry’s cheek, bringing his attention back from the onlookers. “Look at me, yeah?”

"Look good together, don't they?" someone else says. Louis can’t hold back his flinch when a cold hand settles on his shoulder. Harry's eyes immediately fixate on the hand and he looks up at whoever it is, frowning.

"Someone's jealous." Louis recognises Simon's voice. The other two laugh, cruel and mocking.

Louis curses under his breath: now Harry’s tense again, over-thinking. He grits his teeth and bucks his hips up against Harry, trying to encourage Harry to move, but Harry just looks at him like it’s a betrayal.

“Please,” Louis says desperately. He’ll beg if he has to, if it saves them both. He needs Harry with him, needs Harry to play his part. For an awful, heart-stopping moment he thinks Harry won’t, that conscience will get the better of him. "Just do it,” he says, almost frantic. “Please."

Harry looks at him, his gaze steady, assessing. A hand - warm, so warm - smooths over Louis' hip. And then he nods; a decision has been made.

"That's it," Louis encourages. "Come on."

"Make him cry," someone says, but Harry doesn't even seem to hear it, too intent on Louis now to pay attention to anyone else, and it's overwhelming, to be the sole focus of Harry's attention, to be surrounded by Harry so completely. It's never been like this, not ever, with anyone, and Louis doesn't know how to deal with it; all his words, all his defences, are powerless against Harry's assault on his senses. He’s got enough rational thought left to writhe, to cry out brokenly as if Harry’s hurting him. But he doesn’t break eye contact with Harry, not for a moment.

But then it's not just Harry; other hands are on him too, fingers pinching and twisting his nipples, pulling his hair to tip his head back. The sudden, sharp pain makes Louis flinch and shudder and tighten and Harry groans, soft and surprised, and comes. Louis' head is still tipped back and he can't see but he feels the sudden weight as Harry collapses over him, gasping for breath and trembling in every limb as he mouthes weakly at Louis’ collarbone. All Louis can do is put his arms around him and hug him close and it doesn’t feel like enough; he wants to wrap Harry up and hide him away from the world.

"Already?" one of them says, loud and harsh. "That's it?" There are sounds of movement. Louis can’t be sure but he can smell Paul’s aftershave and he senses there are more people in the room.

"He's nineteen," Simon says dismissively. "Have another drink and let him go again."

"I'm not a patient man." Ben, Louis thinks. He's the one pulling Louis' hair. "Leave this for us. You take that one.”

Harry makes a low, hurt sound when they get hold of him, ungentle hands on his shoulders pulling him away from Louis. Louis bites his lip against the sting, and the sudden chill now that Harry’s body isn’t blanketing him.

“That’s better,” Ben says. He looms into view above Louis. “Enjoy that, did you?” he asks mockingly.

Louis ignores him, instead twisting his head to look for Harry. He can’t quite see, though; the hand twisted in his hair holds his head back just enough to obscure his vision. He can see Simon now though, and Niall. Simon looks amused, relaxed. Niall sees Louis looking and gives him a stealthy wink.

“Well, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner.” Simon gets to his feet, pulling Niall up with him.

“You’re not staying?”

Simon ruffles Niall’s hair. “No. I think it’s room service tonight.”

The two guests laugh and Louis manages to move his head while they’re distracted shaking hands with Simon and saying goodnight. He sees Harry standing against the wall - leaning against the wall - with Paul next to him. Louis tries to look him over dispassionately but he mentally catalogues Harry’s flushed face and the blossoming bruise on his upper arm and something twists in his chest, right against his heart.

“Want me to leave this one?” Paul asks. He has a hand on Harry’s back, supporting him rather than holding him in place.

There’s a pause, and then Bill says, “No; this one will do. That one needs to learn some manners.”

Louis sincerely hopes Simon is well out of earshot - he thinks Paul might not pass the comment on - but then it doesn’t matter because Harry is pushing himself away from the wall, reaching for Louis like he’s going to do something heroically stupid. Louis starts to sit up but Paul is faster; grabbing for his belt holster before Harry is halfway to the table.

Harry freezes mid-step, crying out in pain and surprise as Paul shocks him again. He goes down to his knees, scrabbling fruitlessly at his collar. Louis looks on helplessly, wanting desperately to intervene but knowing that anything he does will only make it worse. The guests are laughing, mocking Harry’s tears; as far as they’re concerned it’s just part of the evening entertainment. Louis feels a sudden wave of hatred wash over him as they order Paul to shock Harry for a third time.

Without warning, Ben turns back to Louis, grinning nastily at him. “This one, too.”

Louis flinches. He hasn’t been shocked in a long time: the collars are supposed to be for control, not for punishment or for what this is, a game. He remembers how much it hurts though. Even Paul looks startled by the request, and he makes no move to comply.

“Did you hear me?” There’s an edge to Ben’s voice, an edge that comes from the knowledge of his own authority. “I gave you an order.”

Paul glowers at him. “I don’t take orders from _you_ ,” he says. “I want no part of this.”

Ben looks like he’s going to say something else but then Bill intervenes, saying smoothly, “I’m sure we can manage perfectly well now. Perhaps you can take that one away?” He indicates Harry, still on the floor. “I think he’s learnt his lesson.”

Paul nods. “Three times is enough,” he says, reaching down to grasp Harry’s arm. “He’ll know, now.”

“Let’s hope so,” Bill says silkily. He turns to Louis and smiles down at him. “We can have plenty of fun with this one, in any case.”

Louis closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch Harry being taken away. It’s over for him, at least, Louis tells himself. He’ll sleep safe tonight, and the transitory pain will fade. Maybe he’ll even have some good memories of tonight, one or two, like the thoughts Louis wraps around himself as cruel hands take hold of him once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry settles in, and things change.

Louis doesn't see Harry the next day. Zayn makes a non-committal sound when Louis finally gets around to asking him if Harry’s ok, sometime after lunch, and Louis isn't going to lose any more of his dignity by going to look for Harry once he's ascertained that the younger boy isn't in his room.

It’s not a bad day. The atmosphere has lightened considerably since Simon left in the early hours of the morning and Louis even hears Liam whistling as he and Zayn are re-arranging the garden furniture so they can bask in the last of the afternoon sunlight. Louis bites down his first instinct to tease Liam for it; Liam's just happy and maybe they all need that, today. Louis is certainly not thinking about anything that happened the previous night. Three showers had just about scrubbed away the sense memory of their hands on him after Harry had been taken away and a few hours of sleep have already helped to consign the evening to the mental folder he likes to think of as a locked vault.

It's just ... there are other memories mixed in with the bad, and he's not sure he wants to lose touch with those. Harry's hands on him, firm but tentative, almost worshipful; the way Harry had looked at him, in awe and fascination. Louis knows it's not healthy - for either of them - to think about it. It's just Harry's inexperience, he knows. A touch of hero worship and over-romanticisation of something that isn't anything of the sort. Harry will learn, and then that awe in his eyes will fade away and he won't fuck Louis with anything more than indifference.

"Are you helping or what?" Zayn asks, mock-annoyed.

"He's daydreaming," Liam says.

"I'm _supervising_." Louis looks pointedly at the chair that hasn't been moved. "Keeping you boys on track."

Zayn snorts. "Thanks for that."

"You'd be lost without me." It's said lightly but as soon as he has said it Louis almost wishes he hadn't because it isn't really true: one day, whenever it is, when he's gone, they'll manage just fine.

Maybe Zayn gets that because he just says, "Yeah, we would," and goes to fetch the last chair. They sit in silence for a while, basking in the heat of the sun. It'll be winter soon and Louis doesn't like winter. He hates the cold, wet, windy days that fill the house with draughts and damp in the air, and he _really_ hates the holiday season, when the estate is full of guests and far too many people Louis would be happy if he never met again.

"Niall still asleep?" Liam asks.

Zayn nods. "Yeah, out like a light." And then, because Liam's expression is tinged with concern, he adds, "He's ok, though. Just sleeping."

"What time did he get back?" Louis asks.

"Before you." Zayn softens it with a small smile. "Long before you."

"What can I say," Louis says lightly. "I'm just that good."

He knows he's not really fooling either of them - he hasn't told them, exactly, what happened but they know, because they always do - but they'll go along with whatever he chooses to say about it because that's what they all _do_.

Keeping secrets, knowing when not to speak: all valuable survival skills.

"Niall said that Simon's got some big meeting coming up," Liam says. "He could be out of the country for _weeks_."

They all contemplate that for a moment. It's not a guarantee that they'll be left alone - sometimes Simon lets guests stay in his absence - but it certainly reduces the possibility.

"Got any plans?" Louis teases, looking pointedly at Zayn.

Liam gives him a long-suffering look. "Maybe. What about you?"

Louis scratches at his stubble. "Sleep. Kick the shit out of all of you on FIFA, again-"

"I'm sure you cheat."

" _Again_." Louis leans back in his chair and eyes the clouds rolling in, marring the perfection of the sky. "The usual."

"Just don't get disciplined for something stupid, like last time we had a long break," Liam says.

"You mean, don't get Zayn in shit. Say what you mean, Li."

"I'm not saying you meant to get him in trouble-"

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Louis says sharply.

Zayn cuts in before either of them can speak again. He leans forward and takes hold of Liam's hand, but he's looking at Louis when he speaks. "Leave it. Both of you. It doesn't matter."

"He started it," Louis says mulishly.

"I didn't start anything," Liam argues. "I'm just saying, you don't always think before you do shit."

"At least I think before I start talking about being free when I can be heard, which is just fucking stupid and-"

Zayn kicks back his chair, getting to his feet before either of them can react. Louis’ sentence remains unfinished.

"Zayn?" Liam says, but Zayn is already halfway to the house, his rigid posture radiating irritation.

Liam and Louis look at each other.

"Shit," Louis says eventually.

Liam grimaces. "Yeah."

"Not like Zayn to-"

"We're all on edge. Can't blame him." Liam shakes his head. "I should-"

"Yeah, go on." And then, as Liam stands up, he adds, "We both started it, yeah?"

Liam smiles ruefully. "Yeah. See you at dinner."

It's very quiet when Liam has gone. Louis lets his head rest against the back of the chair and closes his eyes and tries to relax and think of nothing, but the spat has him on edge, thoughts churning in his head. They don't argue very often; there's no point to it and they're all wary of attracting attention, being seen as disruptive. Louis thinks they're lucky that they all get on reasonably well even when they're tired or hurt, and even if he and Liam butt heads from time to time it works, for the most part. Louis doesn't know how Harry is going to fit in. If he's going to fit in.

He stays outside until dinner time, long enough that he even burns his nose a little. Zayn teases him about it as they make their way downstairs and makes him promise to put moisturiser on it so he won't peel and Louis agrees, because Zayn looks happy again and Liam does too and Louis wants to preserve their fragile peace as long as possible.

Harry doesn't come down for dinner. Niall, who's been in to see him, says he's sleeping but he looks furtive when he says it and his face goes bright red.

"You are the worst liar in the world," Louis tells him exasperatedly.

"He told me not to say anything," Niall mumbles, sliding into the seat next to Liam and burrowing into his side.

"It's all right, Niall," Liam says predictably, throwing his arm around Niall's shoulders and pulling him in protectively. "No one's blaming you."

"What's he going to eat?" Louis says, ignoring Liam's glare. "Is he planning on starving himself?"

"I said I'd bring him a plate up," Niall says.

Louis drums his fingertips on the table. "I'll do it. You eat your dinner."

"Aren't you hungry?"

Louis thinks that Zayn's eyes are far too knowing. "Not really," he says shortly, picking up Harry’s plate. "I'll just take this up and finish mine later. After I've explained that we don't really do room service here."

"Louis-"

Louis gives Liam a look, one that says, very clearly, _I’ve got this_. Liam shakes his head but he doesn’t try to stop Louis again.

Louis doesn't bother to mask his approach to Harry’s room; he thumps up the stairs as loudly as he can and clears his throat noisily before he raps on Harry's door.

"Harry! I've brought you your dinner."

There's a pause and then Harry says, "I'm not hungry."

Louis' patience is just about gone. "Tough," he says, and opens the door.

He's breaking their rules, really, but Harry's new and he doesn't _know_ the rules so Louis thinks he can pretend it doesn't matter. He can certainly pretend that he hasn't noticed the way Harry jumps up off the bed when Louis comes in and backs up against the wall, because if he acknowledges it he might have to feel hurt that Harry is suddenly afraid of him.

"Nothing exciting, I'm afraid," he says airily, setting the plate down on the bed. "Not exactly gourmet cuisine. But you'll get used to it. And I think there's apple crumble and custard for pudding, if you want some."

"I-" Harry stops, and clears his throat. "Thanks."

"No problem." And then, because Louis can never resist picking at an open wound and he hates the way Harry is looking anywhere but at him, he adds, "I'm not going to force myself on you, you know. You're not that irresistible."

Harry looks up, eyes wide. "That's not- I-"

"Or did you think you're special?" Louis continues mercilessly. "Harry, it was just a fuck, ok? It didn't mean anything. You're not exactly my first."

Harry's cheeks are pink and he won't meet Louis' eyes when he says, "I know that."

"Well then." Louis feels suddenly embarrassed too and he doesn't know why and he hates this habit Harry has of throwing him off balance and upsetting his carefully-cultivated equilibrium. "So everything's fine, yeah? You don't need to avoid me."

Harry pokes at the carpet with his toe. "That's not- I'm not avoiding you."

"You _are_ avoiding me," Louis points out. "You have been all day."

"Ok, I am," Harry admits. "But not because- I'm not ashamed of it. Of what we did."

Louis thinks they're talking at cross purposes but that's the trouble with Harry: he doesn't think like Louis does. "That's good," he says. "Because if you're going to get embarrassed about something as simple as fucking me over a table then we're going to have a problem."

Harry is silent for a long, drawn-out moment, and then he blurts out, "I don't want to hurt you."

"You didn't," Louis assures him. "Really, you didn't. It was fine. Liam explained it, yeah? They like to think I'm getting hurt." He rushes on before Harry can think about that too much. "So next time, whenever it is, whatever they ask you to do, just do it. I don't mind. I'm not going to hold it against you."

Harry nods. He looks flushed and a little breathless, like there isn't quite enough oxygen in the room.

"You're ok though, yeah?" Louis gestures at his own collar and Harry mimics the gesture, grimacing.

"Yeah. Hurt."

"It's supposed to hurt." But Louis does sympathise. Getting shocked once hurt like hell, and they'd kept doing it to Harry, teaching him a lesson. "Eat your dinner, before it goes cold," he says. "It tastes disgusting when it's cold."

Harry inches away from the wall, shooting Louis quick, nervous glances like he's scared Louis will turn tail and run if he moves too quickly. "Stay with me?"

Louis thinks about his own meal downstairs and sighs inwardly. "Yes. All right."

They sit on Harry's bed while Harry picks at his food, a safe distance between them. Harry keeps looking whenever he thinks Louis isn't and eventually he offers his plate over.

"I don't want any more."

"Sure?" Harry hasn't eaten more than a few mouthfuls and, even though Louis is starving, he's still reluctant to take the plate from Harry.

"I'm not that hungry."

Louis shrugs and takes the plate. "We're having a FIFA night, if you want to come down." He gets to his feet, oddly reluctant, suddenly, to leave. "Take your mind off things."

Harry gives him a faintly incredulous look and now Louis comes to think of it, it is a ridiculous thing to say. He pulls a face.

"It's something to do, anyway."

Harry doesn't come down, though. Louis beats Liam and then Niall but he's distracted, and Zayn beats him in the end. Louis stomps back upstairs to his own room in a simmering rage born out of frustration and something else he doesn't really have a handle on and it’s a long time before he falls asleep.

***

Harry doesn't protest or ask questions when Louis tells him to follow him after breakfast. It's a cold morning, raining heavily, and Harry doesn't have a jacket - hasn't earned one - but Louis throws him Liam's jacket and tells him to put it on and Harry complies wordlessly.

"Come on then," Louis says.

Paul is waiting for them at the end of the garden, grim-faced. He gives Harry a quick once-over and then nods at Louis. "Ready, then? You sure about this?"

"He needs to understand," Louis says flatly.

Paul nods. Harry is looking between them, clearly confused but unwilling to ask what's going on. Louis feels an odd ache of regret that this has to be done at all but an actual physical, tangible demonstration is the only way he can think of that will drive home to Harry what his confinement really means.

Paul has brought along a small log, shorter than Louis' forearm and, Louis knows, roughly the same diameter as his neck. Paul hands the log to Harry to hold while he reaches into his jacket to produce a collar to match those worn around Louis and Harry's necks. He shows it to Harry, and then fastens the collar around the end of the log, adjusting the fit until it's snug and the collar won't slip against the grain.

Harry just looks bemused. "Are you going to shock the log?" he asks, looking between Paul and Louis.

"Not quite," Paul says grimly. He takes the log back from Harry, holding it at the other end from the collar.

"See the boundary line, there?" Louis says, catching Harry's arm to make sure he has his attention. "Where the wires are? That's the edge of the estate, as far as we're allowed to go."

Harry nods, but he still looks bemused as Paul begins to walk towards the boundary, the log held out in front of him like a baton. One step, two, three ... Louis holds his breath, waiting-

-the sharp _crack_ makes him jump, even though he was expecting it. Paul too; he steps back instinctively, letting go of the log.

"Shit, that was loud," Louis says, glancing anxiously at Harry. Who is staring wide-eyed at the log, and the deep groove now scored around the circumference underneath the collar.

Paul reaches down, picks up the log, and holds it up so they can both get a good look at how deeply the collar has cut into the wood. There's no need for him to say anything. It takes very little imagination to picture what would happen if their collars were triggered in the same way.

Harry gets it too: he makes a strangled sound and then he’s falling to his knees in the grass, vomiting up his breakfast. Louis sighs, and rubs his back until Harry has stopped retching. At least, he thinks, Harry now understands that there’s no way out for him.

Louis swallows, dry-mouthed, suddenly very aware of the pressure of his collar against his throat.

For any of them.

***

Louis doesn’t see Harry for the rest of that day, nor for the day after that. A guest arrives in the evening and asks for Zayn, and Louis plays stony-silenced cards with Liam until long after both of them should have been in bed. When Zayn isn’t back by midnight, Liam sighs, sets his cards down, and goes upstairs. Louis follows soon after.

When he wakes up the next morning he’s not surprised to find Zayn in his bed, snoring softly with his outflung arm brushing against Louis’ back. Louis rolls out of bed and goes for a shower, trying to move quietly so he doesn’t wake Zayn.

When he gets back, Niall and Harry are in his room, Niall in his usual place on the window-ledge, Harry leaning against the wall.

"Don’t blame me," Niall says when he sees Louis looking. "He followed me in."

Harry looks surprisingly good, Louis thinks. In fact, for someone who’s been sneaking food when Louis isn’t looking and studiously avoiding contact with any of them for two days, Harry looks remarkably good. "That’s ok," he says. "Morning, Harry." And then, to Niall, he adds, "Go on then. I was getting up anyway."

Niall grins at him and pads across the room to the bed, sliding in besides Zayn. Louis rolls his eyes at Harry in mock-annoyance.

"Kicked out of my own bed."

"You can sleep in mine," Harry says, before looking like he wishes he could dig himself a nice, deep hole and climb into it.

Louis just smiles and carries on as if Harry hasn’t spoken. "I’m hungry. Need to get some breakfast. Coming?"

Still blushing furiously, Harry nods. They go downstairs and Louis gets them cereal - he can do cereal - and they sit at the table and eat in a silence that is companionable rather than awkward. Louis thinks it feels nice.

"Thank you," Harry says unexpectedly.

"For what, breakfast? Don’t get your hopes up; cornflakes is about my limit."

"No," Harry says, ignoring Louis’ attempt at changing the subject. "For, for everything. Looking out for me."

"It’s nothing," Louis says uncomfortably.

"No," Harry says again. And then, more firmly. "I mean it. Thank you."

Louis looks down at his bowl, suddenly uncomfortable. "It’s ok. I mean, I get that it’s hard to get used to it. All this." He waves a hand that encompasses more than just the kitchen, more than just the house. "When you’re not used to it. And you’re doing fine. You’re doing good."

Harry grimaces. "Didn’t feel like it. When I- when we-"

"I don’t know," Louis says, kicking him lightly under the table. "Felt pretty good to me."

Harry’s eyes go very wide and his cheeks flush a virulent pink. "Um. Yeah." He clears his throat and looks away and Louis feels guilty all over again. He’s teasing Harry in a way Harry isn’t used to, maybe isn’t in any state to appreciate. He’s expecting Harry to just deal with the reality of an encounter that can only be a bad memory for him: stripped and humiliated in front of strangers, made to fuck Louis, tortured when he disobeyed their commands. And Louis hadn’t behaved any better than the men who had directed them, had he? He was as guilty as any of them when it came to destroying the innocence Harry carried like a brand and it’s a guilt he’s going to carry until the day he dies.

***

A week passes and nothing much changes in the house. They don’t see any guests and the days pass easily enough: Harry spends most of his time with Niall and Louis isn’t watching them or hanging back to catch snatches of their conversations at all, whatever Zayn might think.

At least, Louis realises with relief, Harry’s settled down and looks like he might be starting to fit in.

There’s always a shadow having over them, though. The ever-present threat of change to the daily routine. Louis isn’t particularly surprised when Paul interrupts their lunch one day to inform that there are a couple of guests stopping over, friends of Simon. Louis, Niall, and Harry have been requested, and Louis tries to ignore the cold, sick feeling that washes over him when Paul tells him he’s on his own, that Niall and Harry are together.

He goes to shower first, before they’ve even finished lunch, washing himself faster than he ever has in his life so he can be out, dry, and in Lou’s chair before they arrive. Lou frowns a little at his eagerness but she doesn’t say anything about it, perhaps sensing that he’s not really in the mood for conversation.

"He’s asked for you pretty," she says instead.

Vulnerable

, Louis mentally translates. Younger than he really is. Innocent-looking and ripe for destruction. He knows all the codewords and what they mean for him. The nausea is getting worse.

"You all right?" Lou asks, letting her hand linger on his shoulder for a moment. Louis can see the concern in her eyes when she looks at him and he hates that it’s so obvious in his face.

"Yeah. Probably. Feel sick." Louis pulls a face at his own reflection. "I’ll be fine."

Lou doesn’t look convinced but she lets it go. Louis closes his eyes while she works, not really wanting to watch the transformation. He hears Harry and Niall come in, talking quietly between themselves. Lou greets them, tells them to wait while she finishes with Louis, and Louis knows if he opened his eyes right now he’d see them standing behind him.

"You brushed your teeth?" Lou asks. She pokes a finger against Louis’ cheek. "Your skin’s a bit dry."

"I’ve done mine," Niall says cheerfully.

"I haven’t." Harry sounds slightly panicked. Louis hears Niall sniggering.

"Plenty of time," Lou says soothingly. "Go and do it now. Hold this for me, Louis."

Louis obediently holds up his hand so she can put the lid of the moisturiser in it. He hears Harry leave, the door swinging to behind him.

"Harry seems fine," Lou says. She dabs moisturiser on Louis' cheek. "Must be a shock for him but-" She stops abruptly, perhaps suddenly aware that she's walking a dangerous line, coming close to discussing things she's really not supposed to discuss with them.

"He's doing all right," Niall says easily. "And Simon seems to like him. You and him together, anyway." He winks at Louis in the mirror. "I think Harry likes that too."

Louis gives him a warning glare.

"What?" Niall says unrepentantly. "He likes you a lot better than he did that woman who asked for him. He likes you a lot better than he likes any of us."

"He doesn't _like_ me," Louis says waspishly. "He doesn't know me." Ignoring the small, sarcastic part of his brain that wants to point out that Harry knows him very well indeed, Louis rushes on. "He's got a stupid little crush on me because I helped him out when he was too fucking stupid to do what he was told. That's it." He's gone too far, already, but Louis can't stop the words that are tumbling out of his mouth. "And if he thinks it's anything more than that then he's a fucking idiot because I don't give a shit about him."

Louis finally runs out of words and the room is very quiet. Even Lou is still, frozen in place. The only sound is Louis' own harsh, uneven breathing.

And a small, breathless, hurt sound from somewhere behind him.

"Well done," Niall says quietly as Harry flees, stumbling over the chair by the door in his haste to get out of the room.

Louis wants so very much to jump out of the chair and go after him, to tell Harry that he didn't mean it - but, the thing is, he _did_ mean it in the heat of the moment and part of him still means it now.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" Niall continues. He stands up, shaking his head. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Fuck off," Louis says. "Go running after him, if you like." He glances up at Lou. "Are you going to finish or what?"

"Oi," she says, waving a finger at him. "Don't take your pissy mood out on me."

He isn't surprised when Niall does go after Harry. Neither of them come back while he's there and they're not waiting just outside for him to come out either. Louis goes to wait in the kitchen by himself, half-hoping and half-dreading bumping into them and having to have an awkward conversation he still feels too raw and bruised to have, but he doesn't see them at all until Paul comes to collect him, two hours later, and they're waiting together in the hall. Neither of them look at him.

Great

, Louis thinks bitterly. _Just what I need_.

He doesn't think Niall will hold a grudge; he never does for long, although it hurts that Niall has taken Harry's side and not his when he’s known Louis for so much longer. Harry, though ... Louis' not sure whether Harry's going to hold a grudge or not.

Maybe it’s better if he does, he thinks darkly. If Harry holds a grudge, then maybe he won't find it so difficult to hurt Louis next time they're together.

Maybe it’ll be easier for both of them.

***

Louis stumbles as he makes his way across the hallway. It's tiredness, nothing more, but the guard standing by the door gives him a look that Louis really doesn't like, a look that goes straight to the paranoid, worrying part of his brain and sets off a panic alert.

Just what he needs at two am. Louis very deliberately ignores the unspoken hint that he should go straight upstairs to bed and goes into the kitchen instead. He doesn't bother putting the lights on; he pours himself a glass of water and drains it and pretends he hasn't noticed Harry sitting at the table, still and silent in the half-light.

"There's juice in the fridge," Harry says, having clearly not received the message that it might be better if they avoided each other for a while. He pushes his chair back and stands up.

"Water's fine," Louis says. And then, because he can't help himself, he says, "You ok?"

Harry stills and doesn't answer immediately. "Yeah," he says eventually, very softly. "I'm ok."

"Good." Louis pours himself another glass of water but his hands are shaking and he nearly drops the glass in the sink. "Shit."

"Let me," Harry says, a sudden whirlwind of movement as he brushes past Louis to get the juice from the fridge. "Have this instead."

Louis briefly considers making a stand and refusing the drink and storming upstairs but he's tired and he hasn't eaten enough today and it's just _easier_ to take the proffered glass from Harry and play along with what is obviously Harry's attempt to ignore what Louis said earlier and pretend that everything’s fine between them.

"Niall gone to bed?"

"Yeah." Harry doesn't seem to know what to do now he's given Louis a drink and, after he's put the juice away, he just stands there awkwardly, looking at the floor. "We were, um, done really early so we had some pizza and he went to bed."

"Right." Louis tries to ignore the sudden pang of jealousy. "Quick fuck, then?"

Even in the semi-darkness Louis can see Harry blush. "Um. No. I mean. Not like that."

"Like what then?" Louis prods. "Come on. It can't be that embarrassing."

"Niall, um." Harry makes a hand gesture that's as expressive as it is clumsy. "And then when I, um, I, um-"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Louis interrupts. "If you can do it, you can say it. So Niall blew you and you wanked him off, yeah?"

Harry looks like he might spontaneously combust with sheer embarrassment but eventually he mumbles, "Yeah."

"Well done," Louis says sardonically. "And that was it?"

"Yeah." Harry straightens up and sighs. "Do you want some ice for your face?"

"I-" Louis instinctively reaches up to touch his swollen cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, ok. Thanks."

Harry is silent as he gets the ice tray out of the freezer, pops out some ice cubes, and wraps them in a dishcloth to make an impromptu icepack. Louis holds out his hand for it but instead of handing it over Harry steps in close, pressing the icepack against Louis' cheek and holding it there. Louis hisses at the sudden cold, the sting of the pressure on his skin, but the ice quickly starts to numb the pain and Harry is gentle and Louis is so very, very aware of how close they are.

"It's not that bad," he tries. "Just a bit swollen. Little bruise tomorrow."

"He hit you," Harry says flatly. "Why would he hit you?"

Louis rolls his eyes at Harry but he thinks the full effect is probably lost because Harry is intent on his injury, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know. Why do any of them do things? We don't mean anything to them, Harry."

"Did you tell him no?"

"Don't be ridiculous." And then, because he can't go to bed and leave it like this between them, he adds, "What I said before, I-"

"Don't apologise," Harry says, a steely edge to his voice Louis hasn't heard before. "You don't need to apologise. You were right."

"I was not right," Louis says. "And I want to say sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Why did you then?"

And it floors Louis, that simple question that he doesn't really have an answer for. "I don't want you to be in love with me," he says carefully. _I'm scared I'm in love with you. I’m scared that you make me want things I shouldn’t want and can’t have._

Harry shakes his head. "Louis, I don't know you," he says.

"I know that." Even though they're his own words parroted back, they still sting. Louis pushes Harry's hand away. "Just accept the fucking apology, ok?"

Harry steps back, giving Louis some space. "Ok," he says quietly.

"And go to bed," Louis adds. "You don't win any prizes for staying up all night."

Harry doesn't say anything to that and Louis wants so badly to push harder, to throw cruel, hurtful words at Harry until Harry snaps and pushes back and says things he can't apologise for, because it would be so much easier then. Easier to hate Harry and hold him to blame for everything Louis has no right to feel.

But he doesn't.

***

Louis ends up with a truly spectacular bruise, right on his cheekbone, as a memento of the night, but it doesn't swell as much as he'd feared, thanks to the ice Harry had applied, and after a day or two he almost forgets about it. Another guest asks for him three days later and Lou manages to cover it so well with concealer and foundation the man doesn't even notice it's there.

A week passes. Two more guests stay for the night and move on the next morning: one asks for Zayn, the other for Niall and Liam. Louis and Harry have an uneasy truce but a truce nonetheless and if Louis shivers a little when Harry brushes past him on the landing or when he catches Harry watching him with that curiously intent expression he seems to save for Louis and Louis alone .... well, no one else needs to know.

Harry is spending more than a little time with Zayn, but there's a strange furtiveness to their meetings, as if they don't want to be seen together. Louis would suspect there was something going on but Zayn and Liam seem to be closer than ever so he doesn't think it's that - but not knowing what they're up to annoys him and he finally tackles Harry about it, one afternoon when the wind is blowing bitter-cold from the north and anyone with any sense is safely indoors.

"Come on," he tells Harry, tugging on his arm. "We're going for a walk."

"A walk," Harry repeats, bemused, but he follows Louis anyway.

"Yes, a walk. Put your coat on."

The path around the house is slippery with wet leaves and Louis treads carefully, not wanting to risk falling over. Damaged goods are useless goods, after all. He hears Harry slide a couple of times but somehow he manages to stay on his feet, flailing wildly for balance.

"Careful," Louis teases. "You've got a long way to fall."

Harry pouts, clutching at Louis' arm for balance as his foot skids away under him. Louis grins, and gets a hold on Harry instead, keeping him upright and safe.

"My hero," Harry says, grinning back.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Come on. It's better the further away from the house you get. They planted too many trees close to the house and it's like this every year when the leaves fall."

"But not too far away, right? Or is this you showing me something else bad that can happen to me?"

"Yeah, no" Louis says, swallowing, remembering the demonstration of just what would happen if either of them crossed the estate boundary. "Not too far away."

The grounds are deserted, as far as Louis can tell. Which doesn't mean they aren't being watched - they probably are - but it does mean there isn't going to be anyone actively trying to listen in on their conversation and that's what Louis wants, the reason he dragged Harry out here in the first place. He picks a spot right in the middle of the lawn, far from any tree or any other possible hiding place and crouches down, beckoning Harry to do the same.

"What are we doing?" Harry asks.

"Talking." Although, to a casual and hopefully distant observer, it will look like Louis is simply showing him something on the ground.

"We couldn't, like, talk indoors?"

Louis rolls his eyes again. "Not without being overheard."

"Right."

"You need to learn where you can and can't talk. About stuff." Louis thinks about Liam, and his habit of not thinking before he blurts out something potentially incriminating, and adds, "You only need the wrong person to overhear and that's it. If you're not sure whether it could get you in shit, don't say it in the house."

Harry nods. "Ok," he says.

"Ok." Louis takes a deep breath and says, "What are you and Zayn up to?"

Harry instantly flushes bright red, confirming Louis' suspicions that they're up to something. "I- I don't know what you mean," he mumbles.

"You are the worst liar I have ever met," Louis says flatly. "What are you up to? Don't try and bullshit me."

Harry looks away. "You could ask Zayn."

"I'm asking you." There's no way Louis is going to admit that it stings, just a little, that he's excluded from whatever it is they're up to. "Are you two fucking? Because Liam's going to kill you if you are."

"No!" And that, at least, is the truth; Louis can see the absolute honesty when Harry meets his eyes. "No, we're not."

"What then? If I've noticed then someone else is going to notice sooner or later and they might not ask nicely."

Harry touches a finger to his collar and Louis wonders if he's remembering the night they shocked him repeatedly. Paul had done it reluctantly then; Louis doesn't think he'd be quite so reluctant if he thought Harry was hiding something that could affect them all. There are different levels of intensity to the shocks the collars can administer and Harry had only suffered the lowest.

"Tell me, Harry," he insists.

"It's nothing," Harry mumbles.

"It is something. Just tell me, idiot."

Harry still hesitates, fidgeting with his collar, looking at Louis and then looking away. "I can't," he says eventually. "Not yet, anyway. I mean. I don't want to. Not tell you. I will tell you. Later."

"Well, that makes sense," Louis says sarcastically.

Harry looks at him pleadingly. "Just, please? I will tell you. We need more time though."

"More time." Louis eyes him thoughtfully. Harry flushes again.

"Please."

Louis sighs, and gets to his feet, wincing as his leg muscles protest. "All right," he says. "More time it is. But you’re going to tell me eventually."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

Louis looks down at Harry, gazing up at him with an openly mischievous glint in his eye, and knows it’s a lost cause, trying to pretend he doesn’t feel anything for Harry. "I’ll let you decide," he says. "Come on, let’s get back indoors, I’m freezing."

***

Another guest arrives the next evening, one they haven't seen before. He asks for Louis and Zayn and, for once, Louis finds himself not really dressed up at all. Just jeans and a t shirt and Zayn dressed the same and it's so easy, so non-threatening, that Louis finds himself at a loss and it’s Zayn who takes the lead, asking what the man wants and helping Louis undress.

"Don't hurt him," the man tells Zayn when Zayn tumbles Louis down onto the bed. "Be gentle. I want him to enjoy it."

Zayn's expression is inscrutable but when he and Louis make eye contact Louis can tell Zayn is every bit as startled as he is. He pats Zayn's arm, both to reassure Zayn and to try and get his own head around the idea of pretending to enjoy being fucked rather than suffering through it. It's been a while.

They seem to carry it off, though. Zayn puts him on his belly and Louis moans and writhes in what he hopes is a convincing way and they even get complimented, afterwards, on how good they look together and how good Louis looked when he came.

"That was awkward," Zayn says as they walk back to the main house.

"Less so for you," Louis says dryly.

"You think so?" Zayn shakes his head. "Let's just be grateful he was happy to watch from a distance."

Louis bites back his first, waspish response. "He's not going to go looking at body fluids, looking for evidence that I came, is he," he points out.

Zayn gives him a sideways glance. "Don't you- I mean, do you miss it?"

"What kind of question is that?" Louis glances around, checking that they haven't been overheard.

Zayn looks like he has more to say but to Louis' relief they've reached the house and Paul is there to let them in. He looks unusually sombre, not really looking at either of them as he closes and locks the door behind them. Louis is instantly on alert, but Paul doesn't say anything and there's no obvious threat and it's late and there's a cold going around - all the guards seem to have it lately - and maybe Paul's demeanour means nothing at all.

Louis’ still on edge as they cross the hallway and start up the stairs. And then he sees Niall sitting at the top of the stairs, head down, hugging his knees, and he knows his first instinct was right. "What's wrong?" he says, quickening his pace. "Niall?"

Niall lifts his head and looks at Louis and then at Zayn and his eyes are reddened and swollen; he's been crying.

"Niall?" Zayn says sharply. "What happened? Where are the others?"

Niall lets his head drop again. "Harry's in his room," he mumbles, barely audible.

Louis drops down next to Niall and puts an arm round him, pulling him in tight. "Where's Liam? Niall, where's Liam?"

"They took him," Niall says. "They took him away. Sold him." The last word is almost lost as he starts to cry again, turning to bury his face in Louis' shoulder.

Zayn says something but the words are meaningless to Louis, nothing more than noise. Liam’s gone, ripped away from them without even time to say goodbye, and there’s nothing Louis can do to make this right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best-laid plans often go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely feedback, I really appreciate it :) Any questions, feel free to ask me on [Tumblr](http://sorcxita.tumblr.com)

Adrenaline and incandescent rage carry Louis as far as Harry's room and he pushes the door open with such force that it slams against the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing? You're fucking hiding in here and they took Liam and Niall's fucking crying, they-"

Louis breaks off mid-diatribe, because Harry rolls over and pushes himself up and Louis gets an eyeful of the split lip and the livid bruising across Harry's shoulder, and the anger drains out of him as quickly as it had arisen.

"Fuck," Louis says instead.

Harry isn't looking at him. He looks almost ashamed.

"Are you all right?" Louis asks. Stupid question; of course Harry isn't all right.

Harry nods. "Yeah."

"Sure? Did they shock you?"

"A couple of times." Harry looks at him then, smiling wanly. "Didn't learn my lesson the first time."

"Fuck," Louis says again. He crosses the room to Harry's bed and kneels down next to it so he can get a better look at Harry's injuries. "You should put something on that," he says, looking pointedly at Harry's lip.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"If you're sure," Louis says, unconvinced. "Shit, Simon's going to be livid." Visible marks that can't be covered never go down well with Simon. Louis can only hope that he isn't going to visit for a while, and won't see the evidence for himself. He suspects no one is going to be in a rush to tell him that Harry's been damaged.

"It's my own fault," Harry says. "Niall said not to try and stop them."

"Why did you try then?"

Harry looks at him, wide-eyed. "Wouldn't you?"

Louis flushes, though he's not entirely sure why. "No. What would be the point?"

"Because-" Harry shakes his head. "Because he's your friend."

It's like a punch in the gut. Louis thinks he might actually vomit. "I know. But there's no point in fighting, don't you understand that? They'll do what they want and you'll only make it worse."

“You were angry at me though,” Harry points out.

“I was angry with you because I thought you’d left Niall on his own and you didn't care … fuck.” Louis sits down on the edge of Harry’s bed and buries his face in his hands. “They took Liam. Fuck.”

"Is Zayn-"

"He's..." Louis trails off. Zayn isn't _fine_. He isn't _all right_. He isn't even _ok_. He just ... is. "Niall's with him." He looks up at Harry. "We'll look after him."

Harry smiles tremulously. "Niall isn't in any better state."

"No, I know." Louis sighs and stands up. "Are you going to be ok? Ask- no, wait, don't you go downstairs. I'll get you some antiseptic, ok?"

"It's _really_ not as bad as it looks."

"I don't care," Louis says firmly. "You're putting antiseptic on it. I'll get you some painkillers too."

There’s a pause, and then Harry says, "thank you," very quietly.

"There's nothing to thank me for," Louis says awkwardly. "Really."

"Well, I mean it," Harry says. "You- you take care of us. All of us."

"Didn't do a great job with Liam, did I?" It's a bitter taste in his mouth. Liam isn't even the first he's let down.

Harry shakes his head. "No. You were right; some things we can't fight. You're not to blame for that. But everything else, you make it better."

Louis doesn't know what to say to that: Harry's wrong about him, so very wrong, and he wants to throw it back in Harry's face, let him see what Louis really is and how little he deserves the trust Harry gives so freely.

"I'll get you those painkillers," he says instead.

 

***

 

Lou won't meet his eyes when she's doing his hair that evening and Louis is _really fucking annoyed_ by that even though he knows - logically - it's not her fault that Liam's gone and it's not like there's anything she could have done to stop it happening.

It still annoys him.

It still makes him wonder if she knew in advance what was going to happen. He gets paranoid about that, more often than he'd like. But he tells himself that's a good thing: it's all too easy to fall into the trap of thinking that those who work in the house are their friends, that there's some kind of bond there, when the truth is that they work for Simon and it's a job to them, nothing more. They're not going to risk anything except the small, insignificant kindnesses.

He's the only one who's been asked for. He's torn between feeling paranoid about being picked out - that he's going to be the next one sold - and about the others being left behind. He really doesn't want to come back to find that another of them has gone.

"Your hair's getting long again," Lou says. It sounds forced, like she's trying to make the conversation casual.

"I don't mind," Louis says.

"You don't want me to cut it?"

She looks slightly surprised when he shakes his head.

"Sure?"

"No. Do what you want with it."

He wonders if Liam's going to be replaced. If Simon has already found someone then the sudden sale makes sense - Simon would want the room free. But there had been a big gap before Harry arrived, and Simon's done it before, just sold someone on a whim or because it sweetens a deal for him. It doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Louis just hates the uncertainty of it. The knowledge that it could be any of them, next time. That it could be him.

"It's the man who was here last month," Lou says suddenly. "The one with the scar on his cheek."

Louis is taken aback that she's telling him - she usually doesn't. The way she phrases it means she's either seen tonight's guest or she's been talking to one of the guards about it. He knows immediately who she means, though, and something of his thoughts must show in his expression because Lou sighs and pats his shoulder.

"He's not staying. He's on his way to a conference or something. He'll be gone tomorrow."

Louis pulls a face. "Not soon enough."

Lou doesn't say anything; Louis sees the way she glances up and he files that away for future reference. He knows where most of the cameras are in the house but they get moved, sometimes, and he needs to keep track of them. Needs to keep track of where he's safe and where he's not.

 

***

 

Zayn is in his room when he gets back. Louis flicks the light on before he notices and flicks it off again straightaway but Zayn doesn't seem to even notice. He's sitting on the window-ledge, face turned away. Louis takes a deep breath and steps into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"I'm going to get a shower," he announces. He's already had one downstairs but another won't hurt - and it gives Zayn a chance to leave if he wants to. He kicks off his shoes and heads for the bathroom but Zayn speaks before he's even halfway across the room.

"Why him?"

"I don't know." Louis wishes he could think of something to say that would make it better - easier - for Zayn, but he can't. There's nothing he can say that can even begin to address what's happened.

"Do you think that- was someone asking for him? Like- like that."

"I don't know." Louis knows what Zayn wants him to say: that someone liked Liam so much he or she wanted to buy him from Simon. That's the best outcome that any of them can hope for, because the alternative is that whoever the new owner is doesn't really care for them one way or another, or bought or asked for them specifically to hurt, to torment. The worse case scenario, which Louis tries not to think about at all, is not to be given to a new owner at all but to be sold off to one of the big agencies that collects slaves considered too old or too disruptive to be good for anything else and sells them on for medical research or to be put to work in the jobs considered too dangerous for anyone else.

"I didn't- no one told me," Zayn says, and he sounds so utterly lost it's terrifying. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"I don't think he knew," Louis says helplessly. "You know what it's like; they never say anything beforehand. He would have told you if he'd known. Said goodbye."

Zayn doesn't reply. Louis gives it a minute or two and then he resumes his walk to the bathroom, half-expecting Zayn to call him back. But he doesn't, and Louis strips off the rest of his clothes and runs the shower as hot as he can stand it before getting in. Twisting underneath the scalding spray, he scrubs his skin until it's raw, as if he can scrub off the sense memory of the hands that held him down.

 

***

 

It's been raining, and then sleeting, all morning but the pale winter sun is out when Louis follows Harry out into the garden after lunch, wrapped up warmly in his jacket and gloves. The ground is hard beneath his feet, still frozen from the overnight frost.

"It's going to snow soon," he says, more to himself than to Harry.

"Is that good or bad?"

Louis frowns at the sky. "Neither. But I might chuck a snowball at you."

Harry laughs, the most genuine laugh Louis has seen from him in the two weeks since Liam was taken. "Maybe I'll get you," he teases.

"Maybe you will." Louis takes a careful look around as they move away from the house. As far as he can see there's no one around. It's cold enough that their breath mists in the air on every exhalation and the guards aren't that committed. "Are you wheezing?"

Harry blushes a delicate pink. "It's the cold," he says. "It's nothing."

"You sure? We can go back for your inhaler, if you want."

"N-no. It's ok. We're not going far, anyway."

"Where are we going?"

Harry flashes him a quick grin. "Our spot."

"Our- Harry, we don't have a spot," Louis says exasperatedly, but Harry keeps walking, striding across the grass to where Louis talked to him, weeks ago. Louis hurries after him, trying not to think about how warm the house will be right now.

He catches Harry up just as Harry comes to a stop. He looks around, more obviously than Louis had, and nods decisively, as if coming to a decision. Louis watches him, bemused.

"This do for you, then?"

"Yeah." Harry seems oddly focused now, no longer teasing. Nervous, too, and that sets Louis on edge.

"What's going on, Harry?" he asks quietly.

Harry looks around again and beckons Louis in closer. Louis has to control the urge to smack him; he couldn't make it any more obvious that he's up to something if he tried. Louis can only hope that no one is bothering to keep an eye on them.

"Zayn and I have been talking."

"I know." Louis rubs his hands together, trying to get some heat into them.

"And I said I'd tell you what we were up to," Harry continues. "When the time was right."

"Let me guess," Louis says. "The time is right, yeah?"

Harry nods. "Yeah. I mean, I wanted to tell you before. It's not, like, I want to keep anything from you."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Secrets win prizes, mate. This whole place runs on secrets."

Harry gives him a look Louis can't quite place and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. It's just- this is important."

"Just spit it out," Louis says impatiently. "Get on with it and we can get back inside before I turn into a fucking icicle, yeah? Which I am in serious danger of doing right now."

"Ok." Harry takes a deep breath. "Well, um, Zayn and I have been talking and we want to try and escape."

Louis stares at him.

Harry swallows. "Get out of here," he says, like he thinks Louis hasn't understood what he said.

Louis finally finds his words. "Are you fucking insane?"

Harry flushes again. "No."

"You must be if you think you're getting out of here. Fucking hell." Louis starts to pace, keyed up with anger and frustration. Of course they'd kept it from him: Zayn would have known that Louis would have shot them down in a heartbeat if they'd discussed it with him from the first. "Do you even know what would happen to you if you tried?"

"I've got an idea," Harry says mulishly.

"Yeah, and you didn't fucking learn anything, did you?" Louis snaps back. "How the fuck do you think you're going to get out of here without-" he twists his hands together, mimicking a snapping motion.

Harry's face is very pale, but there are two patches of bright colour, one on each cheek. Louis isn't sure whether it's anger or embarrassment or both. "We've got a plan for tha-"

"It had better be a fucking _good_ plan!"

"It is." And it's a new thing for Louis, because Harry doesn't back down like the others do when Louis loses his temper; he stands his ground, staring him down. "Listen to me, please. Just listen."

"Oh, talk away," Louis says sarcastically, folding his arms. "I can't wait to hear this. Tell me your amazing plan, please."

Harry clears his throat. Louis can still hear the faint hint of a wheeze on each breath but it doesn't seem to be getting any worse. "We've been thinking about it for a while," he begins.

"You haven't been here that long," Louis says waspishly. Harry ignores the interruption.

"You're right, you know. The collars are a big problem. We can't cross the boundary with them on."

"Slight problem in escaping, then."

"Not necessarily." Harry's voice wavers for a moment.

"What are you thinking? Digging a tunnel or something? First of all, it'd still set the collars off, and second, they'd spot you long before you got anywhere."

Irritation flashes in Harry's eyes. "Not a tunnel."

"What then?"

"We take them off."

"Take them off," Louis says flatly. "That's a genius idea right there. Congratulations, Haz, you've solved all our problems. We could have been out of here years ago if we'd just thought to take the collars off. They're fucking _locked on_ , if you haven't noticed."

"I've noticed." Harry gives him another irritated look. "But that doesn't mean they won't come off. I mean, they have to take them off, right? If- when we're sold. If we can't leave with them on."

Despite himself, Louis is interested now. "Yeah. Yeah, they come off then. They used to re-key them but it didn't always work." He doesn't bother spelling out what happened when it didn't work; Harry can fill in the blanks. "So now they just take them off. Fit new ones when you get wherever you're going."

"There you go," Harry says. "They can come off."

"Right. And how were you planning on getting them off? There's only one master controller that unlocks them, you know."

"Really?" Harry says, wide-eyed. "Zayn said there was more than one."

"No," Louis says, sighing. "There's more than one controller but that's just to dole out the shocks, yeah? The master controller is the one that unlocks them and that's in Paul's office and good luck getting in there; the door's locked on a keypad and if you get caught trying to break in you're going to regret it."

"Isn't it worth the risk?" Harry argues.

"For what? What are you going to do when you get out? You don't have any money, you don't have any papers ... what are you going to do? Have you even thought this through?"

Harry looks away. He looks sad, suddenly. Defeated. Louis doesn't like that expression at all.

"Look, I didn't say it was a bad idea," he says awkwardly. "Ok, it _is_ a bad idea. It's just- it's not bad to want to be out of here, yeah? Trying to escape is stupid but of course you want out."

"I want all of us out of here," Harry mumbles.

_Me too_ , Louis wants to say. "I'll talk to Zayn," he says instead. "Just don't do anything stupid in the meantime, yeah?"

"Ok," Harry says.

"Good." Louis risks a smile and, to his relief, Harry smiles back. "Come on, it's fucking freezing. Let's get inside."

They walk back to the house in companionable silence and it seems like they haven't been missed at all, because Paul looks surprised when they walk into the hall.

"Bit cold for a walk, isn't it?" he asks.

Louis puts on his most innocent smile. "Exercise is good for the soul."

Paul snorts, but he doesn't ask any more questions. Louis tugs on Harry's arm.

"Come on,” he says. “I'll kick your arse at FIFA."

 

***

 

"This," Zayn says as Louis leans out over the banister. "Is a really fucking stupid idea."

"You have a better one?" Louis asks.

Zayn shrugs. "Maybe we should try what Niall said."

"It won't work," Louis says. "Paul only has to pull the door to and it locks. He's not going to leave it wide open just because Niall has a fainting fit in the hallway. Anyway, shut up or someone's going to hear us."

"Anyone with any sense went to bed hours ago," Zayn grumbles, but he shuts up.

"Just keep an eye out, yeah? I need you to warn me when he's coming."

Without waiting for an answer, Louis lifts himself up and over the banister, so he's standing with his feet on the edge of the landing and his hands gripping the rails. He's very, very aware of the drop behind him but he can't risk going down the stairs; there's a camera right at the bottom. He gives Zayn what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Zayn rolls his eyes, and turns to give Niall the signal to turn off the landing lights. The upper landing goes dark, leaving much of the hallway in shadow. It's this shadow that gives Louis some protection as he carefully makes his way along the edge of the landing, towards the corner and the bookshelf that's going to be his ladder down to ground level.

Louis' heart is pounding in his chest and his imagination is working overtime: he keeps hearing footsteps below, or slamming doors. He angrily forces down the panic - he's done nothing wrong, yet - and keeps moving, finally reaching the bookcase and quickly scrambling down, careful to keep close to the wall and out of camera range. The door to Paul's office is tantalisingly close but the silver-grey keypad lock mocks him: so near and yet so far.

Louis swallows awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the press of the collar against his throat.

A soft click sounds from above: Zayn has heard Paul coming. Louis hasn't heard a thing. Hurrying now, he speeds up, desperate to get to the safety of his planned hiding place, the alcove opposite Paul's office. There's a curtain across the alcove and it's perfect cover for Louis as he scrambles into place, just in time. There are two sets of footsteps heading his way. Heavy footsteps.

"...she's staying for two nights. Tonight and tomorrow." Louis recognises Paul's voice. "Make sure the gatehouse know that she'll be leaving tomorrow morning and coming back; we don't want any hold-ups at the gate."

"No problem." Louis doesn't know the second voice but he guesses it's one of the new guards.

Louis presses himself into the alcove as they get closer. The curtain seems very thin all of a sudden. Not that he’s doing anything wrong, he reminds himself. Not really.

But he is, and he doesn't think Paul is going to overlook this if he gets caught.

"She's got Harry again." Paul sounds amused. "I think she likes him."

They're right in front of him now, right in front of the door. Louis strains to hear the muted tones as Paul taps in his code.

The door to Paul's office isn't closed all the way; he can hear them moving around, the low murmur of conversation. Louis hesitates. He has no idea how long they're going to be in there. He can risk leaving the alcove - and them coming out and catching him. Or he can stay where he is, and hope that they leave sometime soon. He risks another quick glance around the curtain. He can't see into the room at all but he doesn't think either of them are anywhere near the door. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pulls the curtain back so he can ease himself out of the alcove, holding his breath as his feet touch the floor. One step, two. He remembers just in time to step around the squeaky floorboard, and the adrenaline rush of knowing how close he came to giving himself away leaves him dizzy. It's tempting to just rush up the stairs to his room - but he can't. The cameras haven't seen him coming downstairs, so they can't see him going upstairs either. Louis grits his teeth and starts making his tortuous circuit of the room again, keeping close to the wall and out of camera range.

He's half way around the room when Paul comes out of his office. Louis freezes, trying to press himself against the wall behind him so Paul won't see him.

He does, of course. He stops, and narrows his eyes.

"Louis?"

"Yeah." Reluctantly, Louis steps forward. No point in hiding now.

"What are you doing?"

"Couldn't sleep." Louis hopes - really hopes - that Zayn has moved well out of view on the landing above. "Thought I'd come down for something to eat."

Paul is still looking at him, not quite buying it. Louis tries not to fidget. He knows he probably looks guilty as hell. Then Paul sighs.

"Harry won't be long, you know," he says.

He thinks Louis is waiting for Harry. That Louis can't sleep because Harry is with a guest. Louis looks down to hide the smile threatening to give him away and shrugs.

"I know."

"Go on upstairs," Paul says. He sounds tired. "Hanging around down here will only get you in trouble."

"Yeah, I will." Impulsively Louis adds, "Thank you."

Paul just shakes his head. "Go on."

Louis practically runs up the stairs. Zayn is waiting for him at the top, crouched down in the shadows. Louis puts a finger to his lips, telling him to be quiet. He knows without looking round that Paul is still in the hallway and they can't risk making any noise. He makes a show of sitting down on the top step instead of going straight to his room, making enough noise to cover Zayn and Niall backing up so they can retreat to their own rooms.

Paul goes, eventually. Louis stays where he is, fiddling with the hem of his t shirt, humming the four tones of the keypad to himself, until Harry comes back.

 

***

 

“What do you think?”

Zayn looks and sounds nonchalant but Louis knows him better than that: he’s nervous, worried about Louis’ reaction. Louis picks up the papers one by one and looks them over, feeling the texture of the paper between his fingers, inspecting every line of the printing.

“These are good,” he says at last.

Zayn smiles a relieved smile.

“Where did you get the paper?”

“Harry nicked it for me. Lou uses it to sketch up ideas.”

Louis frowns a bit at that. Stealing anything runs the risk of being caught - but it’s too late now, it’s done. And maybe it was worth it, because the paper Zayn’s used isn’t the usual thin, poor quality lining paper he has to wheedle out of the guards. This is proper, heavy paper: official-looking. Perfect for what they need it for.

“How did you do the stamp?” Louis asks, pointing to one of the papers.

Zayn looks faintly embarrassed. “Potato. Cut out the design. It’s not bad though, yeah?”

“It’s fucking amazing.” Louis squints at it. “Couldn’t tell that from the real thing, no way.”

Zayn hesitates for a moment, and then he says, “This is on then, yeah? You really want to do this?”

Louis carefully sets the papers down again, giving himself a moment to speak, but Zayn presses on before Louis can formulate his thoughts.

“Like, this is Harry’s idea, yeah. And it makes sense to me. It could work, if we’re lucky.”

“If we’re _really_ lucky,” Louis interjects.

“Yeah.” Zayn rubs the back of his neck. “But it could work. And then, and then if we can get away, disappear-”

“With the help of these,” Louis says, indicating the papers between them, the false documents that can get them past all but the most determined checkpoints.

“We can be free. Find Liam.”

Louis winces a little at that, though he’s careful to hide it from Zayn. It’s not that he doesn’t want to find Liam too - of course he does. It’s just that they have no idea where Liam is, and even if they did they’d have to find a way of getting him out. And that’s assuming that any of them get away in the first place. “Yeah,” he says anyway.

“Harry says that we can get info out of the guards, find out where Liam went. Just takes time. We can do this, yeah? We can really do this.”

“Yeah,” Louis says again. Maybe if he says it enough he’ll start to believe it himself.

 

***

 

Louis knows he’s in trouble the minute he walks into his room and finds Paul standing next to his bed, arms folded. Adrenaline floods his body and it’s as much as he can do to paste a casual smile onto his face and say, “hey”, barely able to hear his own voice over the roaring in his ears.

“Been for a walk?” Paul asks, and yes, he’s in trouble.

“Just in the garden, with Zayn.”

“You’re doing a lot of walking lately,” Paul says. Louis braces himself. Whatever Paul knows, he’s about to hear it. “Especially last night, hanging around in the hall. How did you get downstairs without being seen?”

“I go downstairs at night sometimes,” Louis says, stalling for time. “When I’m hungry.”

“Were you hungry last night?” Paul is giving him the gimlet-eyed look that says Louis needn’t bother lying. “And for some reason you couldn’t use the stairs?”

Louis briefly debates lying, telling Paul that he’d used the stairs and that there must be a fault with the cameras, but that would suggest a degree of familiarity with the camera system he doesn’t really want Paul to know he has. “I was just messing around,” he says instead. “Me and Zayn, we had a bet on.”

“A bet,” Paul says flatly.

“Whether we could climb over the banisters and down,” Louis explains. “I said I’d go first, and then you caught me at the bottom.” He bites his lip, looking down. “I was- Zayn was trying to take my mind off- that.”

He worries for a moment that it’s too theatrical, that Paul won’t buy he was so worried about Harry being with someone, but after what seems like an eternity Paul sighs and unfolds his arms.

“Don’t go wandering around like that,” he says sternly. “Not everyone is as lenient as me.”

“I know,” Louis says in what he hopes sounds like a contrite voice. “Sorry.”

“You’re not even supposed to be out of your room at night. _Especially_ when we have guests.”

“I know.”

Paul sighs again. “All right. I’ll- I’ll see what I can do.”

Louis looks up in alarm. He can only think of one explanation for Paul’s choice of phrasing. “It’s already been escalated?”

“The cameras were reviewed this morning,” Paul says grimly. “The report had already gone off before I saw it. So yes, it has been.”

Louis slumps down onto his bed. He doesn’t whether to laugh, cry, or vomit. Or all three. “Shit.”

“Doesn’t mean anything, necessarily,” Paul says. “Simon’s a busy man. He might not even look at the report.”

He will, Louis thinks dully. Simon always looks at anything that comes from the house.

“If he rings up I’ll tell him what you told me,” Paul continues, moving towards the door. “It’s not exactly crime of the century.”

_Doesn’t need to be_ , Louis thinks. He nods anyway. “Thanks.”

 

***

 

He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything when he and Harry get asked for that evening. It’s the same guest as the previous night, and she’s asked for Louis to be _pretty_ and Louis guesses she probably just wants to watch Harry fuck him. For variety. Louis isn’t going to complain too much, because for him it’s easy and he thinks Harry might have grasped what he’s supposed to do after the last, disastrous attempt.

His sense of complacency lasts just about as long as it takes the two of them to walk to the guest room and for Louis to get a look at the woman waiting for them.

“Hello, Harry,” she says, smiling at him as if they’re friends. And then, to Louis. “And hello, Louis. It’s been a while.”

“Hello, Caroline,” Harry says, and Louis stares at him open-mouthed because Harry actually sounds pleased to see her and he has no idea what’s going on, what game she’s playing, what game _Harry’s_ playing.

Caroline gets up from the bed and walks towards them. It’s funny, Louis thinks hysterically, how nonthreatening she looks likes this. How small, almost fragile. The dress she’s wearing is demure and her hair and makeup are done as perfectly as if she’s heading out on a date. She’s watching his reactions, smiling a small, secret smile because she _knows_ what effect she has on him, knows he’s nearly wetting himself in terror. “Harry, love,” she says softly. “I left my bag in the dining room; could you fetch it for me, please?”

Harry scrambles to comply, puppyish in his desire to please, and Louis doesn’t know whether to feel annoyed or jealous. She can’t have done anything to Harry, he thinks. Not yet.

She halts right in front of him, close enough that he can smell her perfume. “Oh Louis,” she croons, pushing her finger against his jaw to tilt his face towards her. “Aren’t you pleased to see me again?”

“Yes, of course,” Louis mumbles, but he can barely force the words out.

“You don’t look very happy to see me again,” she pouts.

Louis doesn’t respond to that; he knows she’s just trying to get a rise out of him. Something that she can use against him.

“How long has it been? Six months? Liam fucked you, didn’t he? It was very lovely. But I couldn’t ask for that this time because Liam’s gone. Are you missing him, Louis? Or do you wish it was you getting sold?”

Louis shakes his head minutely.

“No? Oh, I knew you liked it here.That’s all right.” She leans in closer, daring him to flinch away. “Do you like Harry, is that it? I don’t blame you. I like him myself.”

Louis grits his teeth at the thought of her and Harry together. Of course she’s already had him once. He doesn’t think she’s hurt him but just the thought of her having her hands on Harry makes him want to vomit.

“He likes you too,” she continues, smiling. “He was very happy to talk about you. He worries about you, you know. It’s sweet.” She lowers her voice, her fingers digging into his jaw. “But then, he doesn’t know you like I do, does he, Louis? He doesn’t know you at all.”

“No,” Louis whispers, and he sees her smile as she lets her hand drop a heartbeat before the door opens and Harry comes back with her bag.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find it at first. It was down the side of a chair.”

“That’s all right, Harry,” Caroline says sweetly, taking the bag from him. “Why don’t you help Louis get undressed?”

“Please,” Louis says desperately. “Not him. Don’t let him- just take me. Please.”

Caroline laughs, a sound Louis can only hear as a discordant cackle. “I don’t want him to miss this, Louis,” she scolds.

Harry is looking between them, and Louis wants to weep for how innocent he still is, despite everything. “Miss what?” he asks.

Instead of answering, Caroline just motions him towards Louis and, after a moment’s hesitation, Harry turns to him and, glancing at Louis’ face to make sure it’s ok, starts to unbutton his shirt. Louis picks out a spot on the wall and stares at it, trying not to think about anything and especially not about Harry’s hands on his body and how gentle Harry is as he undresses him.

“Do you want to touch him, Harry?” Caroline asks softly when Louis is naked.

Harry nods, biting his lip.

“So do I,” she says, smiling, and here it is, the moment Louis’ been waiting for. “Go and fetch the harness from my suitcase, Louis. You know what you’re looking for.”

He does know, and it’s funny, because she’s not exactly the first female guest to fuck him with a dildo, but somehow it’s different with her.

Because she was the first.

Because she was the one who got inside his head and twisted him up more than Simon ever has, her subtle cruelty more devastating than any other hurt that has ever been inflicted on him. And he goes to obey her because that’s all he knows how to do, even though every cell of his body recoils from her.

Harry’s eyes go wide when Louis lifts the harness and dildo out of suitcase: Louis guesses that she hasn’t used it on him yet. “What-” he begins, and then stops, and goes red. In other circumstances it would be cute but right now it just makes Louis feel ill.

“Where?” he asks Caroline as he hands it over.

She makes a show of thinking about it, for Harry’s benefit. “Where would you like it?”

He hates, _hates_ this game because there isn’t a right answer. There isn’t an answer that’s going to let him off easy. “On the bed?” he ventures.

Caroline shakes her head. “No, no. I’m going to have fun with Harry on there later; I don’t want you on there.” She reaches up, puts a hand on his shoulder, pushes him down. “Why don’t I give you time to think about it?”

Louis sees Harry start forward as Louis sinks down to his knees and he opens his mouth to tell him to stop but Caroline is faster, turning to Harry and asking him to fetch her a drink while she gets ready. She winks at Louis, when Harry does it.

“I want him to see you,” she says, very softly.

Louis very much does not want Harry to see him like this at all but he doesn’t have much choice. Caroline slips off her dress, leaving on her dainty underwear. Harry comes back with the drink and looks like he doesn’t really know where to look while she’s putting on the harness, adjusting it so that it sits snugly against her body. Louis opens his mouth obediently when she tells him to, lets her fuck his mouth with cool silicone. She’s almost gentle with him at this stage, her fingers tangling in his hair, petting at his face. She doesn’t even draw it out too long, pulling out long before his jaw starts to ache.

“On the table,” she tells him. “On your back, now.”

He does what he’s told while she says something to Harry, too quiet for him to hear. The surface of the table is cold and hard and he can’t make himself comfortable but he knows that’s the point as far as she’s concerned.

“Like that,” he hears her tell Harry, and then Harry approaches the table, his face pale and apprehensive. Louis forces a smile, trying to put Harry at ease. It won’t help either of them if Harry freezes. Harry’s mouth twists, though, like Louis’ attempt at a smile causes him physical pain, and he pets clumsily at Louis’ arm.

“Just do it,” Louis tells him. “It’s not that bad.”

He wouldn’t mind, he thinks. Wouldn’t mind Harry fucking him again. But Harry is still dressed and he makes no move to touch Louis more than is strictly necessary as he fastens cuffs around Louis’ wrists and ankles.

“Legs up,” Caroline instructs, and Louis complies so Harry can hook each wrist cuff to the corresponding ankle cuff.

He hates this, hates it even more than when one of the guests ties him up tightly, unable to move at all. There’s just something exponentially more humiliating about being restrained just enough that it’s hard for him to move around, just enough that the most comfortable position is the one that leaves him vulnerable and exposed. He almost wishes she would bind him more tightly, blindfold him, gag him … but she doesn’t, because she wants to hear him and she wants him to see her and she wants him to know all over again just how completely she owns him.

“Just like you like it,” she teases as she pushes in, no subtlety, no teasing, just a steady pressure and cold slide of lube. He breathes through it, flexing his hands in their cuffs until she’s fully seated inside him. Louis just looks up at her, maintaining eye contact - because he knows it will be so much worse if he looks away or closes his eyes - and tries not to flinch away.

Harry makes a quiet, choking sound. Louis wants to look for him but he doesn’t dare drop eye contact.

“This is what he wants,” Caroline tells Louis, smiling sweetly down at him. “He wants to fuck you like this. Don’t you, Harry?” She winks at him again, her smile turning conspiratorial. “He wants to make you feel good, don’t you, Harry?”

“Y-yes,” Harry mumbles, somewhere close by.

“But he doesn’t know there’s no point,” Caroline continues relentlessly. Her hand trails across Louis’ hip, her nails grazing his limp cock. “There isn’t, is there, Louis? Look how pathetic you are.”

“Stop it,” Harry says.

Caroline opens her eyes theatrically wide. “Just being honest here. You want to know a secret, Harry?”

_No_ , Louis thinks despairingly. _Please, no_.

“He wasn’t always like this,” she says, ignoring his silent plea. “He used to be able to get it up. But I took that away from him. Isn’t that right, Louis?”

“Y-yes,” he says, shuddering as she rocks her hips, driving the dildo deeper into him. He knows this is just the warm-up for her: he’s going to suffer tonight and Harry is going to see all of it.

“Leave him be,” Harry says, sounding ragged.

Louis can’t see Harry but he sees Caroline’s hand move, faster than a snake, the controller pulled from the table next to her as she shocks Harry. He hears Harry’s yell of pain, and what sounds like Harry collapsing to the floor.

“I _really_ didn’t want to do that,” Caroline says regretfully. “I was told you’d learnt your lesson, Harry.” She flicks her hair and sets the controller back down on the table. “Now, where were we?” She rocks her hips again, driving the dildo in hard, as she leans in to address Louis again. “Once you’re nice and open,” she tells him. “I’m going to try out a few things on you. Things you like.” She reaches down, gets a handful of his hair, pulls it hard enough to make him yelp. “Things you don’t.”

It all happens so suddenly Louis doesn’t have time to take it in: one moment Caroline’s looming over him, hard within him; the next moment she’s wrenched away, and he cries out as the dildo is pulled from his body, twisting away from the hurt and nearly falling off the table as Harry and Caroline go careening across the room, Harry trying desperately to hold onto her, Caroline screaming at him and flailing for balance.

And then they both go down, hard, and the room is suddenly very quiet and very still.

“No,” Louis breathes. “No…” He tugs at the cuffs, trying to free himself, but there’s no give in them at all. He can’t begin to imagine how much shit they’re going to be in for this, if Harry’s even ok-

Harry coughs and sits up, wincing and rubbing his head. He looks unerringly for Louis, scrambling to his feet.

Caroline doesn’t move.

Harry looks down at her, sprawled on the floor, and then at Louis.

“Fuck,” he says.

Louis couldn’t agree more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to put those escape plans into action!

For a long, long moment, neither of them move. Louis’ chest is tight, as if he’s strapped down there, too. He’s struggling to suck air into his lungs and despite his nakedness he’s fever-hot, his skin slick with sweat. Harry doesn’t seem to know what to do and Louis can’t even begin to tell him.

“Is she dead?” Harry says eventually. He takes an uncertain step towards Louis, glancing between him and Caroline.

“I don’t know; is she breathing?” Louis tugs at the cuffs again. “I can’t see.” The edge of the table mostly blocks his view of her and he doesn’t dare move too much.

“I- I don’t know.” Harry’s voice rises in panic. “Maybe?”

“Shit.” Louis forces himself to take a deep breath; one of them needs to stay calm and Harry is freaking out. “Look, come and get me out of these things.” He pulls on the cuffs for emphasis. “ _Now_.”

Harry hesitates, then obeys. His hands are shaking but he quickly unhooks the cuffs and helps Louis sit up before removing each cuff in turn. He doesn’t look at Louis while he works. As soon as he’s done Louis slides down from the table, wincing a little as he hits the floor, and goes over to where Caroline is sprawled on the floor, and now he can see properly he can see why she isn’t moving; she’s hit her head against the wall on the way down and there’s blood on the wall and on her.

“Is she dead?” Harry asks again. His voice is very small.

Louis kneels down next to her and presses his fingers against her neck. “I don’t think so.” He frowns. “No, she’s not; there’s a pulse. She’s just unconscious, I think.”

“Ok,” Harry says, sounding less than happy about it, and Louis knows what he’s thinking. If Caroline’s alive there’s going to be no mercy for either of them when she wakes up. Louis shares his apprehension, but it’s mixed in with relief: Harry isn’t a killer by nature and Louis wouldn’t want that on his conscience, wouldn’t ever want him to have to carry that stain on his soul.

“But she’s hit her head really hard,” Louis says. “It could be a while before she wakes up.”

“What are we going to do?” Harry asks plaintively.

“I don’t know,” Louis says. But he does know. Now it’s come down to it there’s only one thing they _can_ do, only one thing that gives them any chance at all. He looks down at Caroline again, his mind racing as he considers how to put their plan into action.

“S-should I go and find someone?” Harry asks. He takes a step towards the door.

“No,” Louis says sharply. The last thing they need is for Harry to alert anyone as to what’s happened. “Help me with her.”

“W-what do you-”

“Help me put her on the bed. Take her feet. Careful.”

Harry moves closer but he hesitates, indecision written all over her face. “Louis…”

“I don’t want to touch her either,” Louis says exasperatedly. “But we need to move her, ok? If anyone comes in, she’s the first thing they’ll see. Look, if it bothers you that much, get a sheet off the bed; we’ll carry her in that.”

Caroline doesn’t weigh very much, Louis thinks absently as they carefully carry her over to the bed. The weight of her presence has always been more than her physical size, for him at least. They place her in what Louis hopes is a natural position and arrange the covers over her to make it look like she’s sleeping. Her breathing is steady and even and unlaboured and Louis is torn between relief and terror at the thought that any moment her eyes might open, the prelude to retribution raining down on them.

“What now?” Harry asks when they’re done. He’s still pale but his hands have stopped shaking. Louis takes that as a good sign.

“Now?” he says steadily, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. “Now we get out of here.”

“She’s going to remember when she wakes up, Louis…”

“Not out of this room,” Louis says. “Out of here. Like we talked about.”

It’s the point of no-return; the words are out. He expects some kind of protest from Harry but Harry just nods, like he thinks it’s the best idea Louis’ ever had. “We’re not really ready,” is all he says.

“Harry, we don’t have a choice. If she wakes up … we’re never going to get another chance. We’ll just have to do what we can, hope for the best.” _Hope for a fucking miracle_ , he adds mentally.

“Ok,” Harry says. “Yeah, that makes sense. How are we-”

“We’re going to clean up in here,” Louis interrupts. “Then you’re going to go up. Tell Paul she’s done with you, that she’s keeping me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Harry says at once. “What if she wakes up?”

Since Louis has been very firmly put that out of his mind, he doesn’t appreciate the reminder. “Then she wakes up,” he says. “There’s not a lot we can do about it.”

“We should tie her up,” Harry says. “So she can’t do anything if she does wake up.”

It does make sense, even though Louis doesn’t really want anything to do with the cuffs still lying on the floor next to the table. Harry seems to sense his reluctance because he goes to fetch the cuffs himself and goes around the other side of the bed, away from Louis, to fasten Caroline’s wrists together.

“Should I cuff her to the bed?” he asks.

“Yeah- yeah, if you like.” Louis looks at the wall, where the blood is all too obvious. “And then you need to get going. I’ll clean up in here. Just … tell Zayn it’s time. He’ll know. Don’t say too much, remember.”

“I know,” Harry says. And then, “Promise you won’t be long?”

“I won’t be long,” Louis says, and if Harry picks up the double meaning he doesn’t give any sign. Maybe he, like Louis, is not even allowing himself to consider the likelihood of them being caught and what will happen to them when they are.

Louis can’t help following Harry to the door, brushing his fingers against Harry’s wrist as the other boy reaches for the door handle.

“You’ll be fine,” he tells him, gently.

Harry tries for a smile but it looks more like a grimace. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he mumbles.

“You’re going to be fine.” Louis squeezes his wrist. “I know you will.”

Harry nods, and Louis steps back as Harry opens the door, careful to move out of the line of sight of anyone waiting outside. He doesn’t think there’ll be anyone around but he doesn’t want to take any chances. He relaxes a little when the door swings shut and he can wedge a chair against the handle but that brings a whole other set of anxieties, because he’s now trapped in a room with Caroline, alone, and there’s every chance she could wake up soon and, knowing her, she’d prefer to take her revenge on him directly rather than summoning Paul. Or maybe, he thinks miserably, she’d do both. Ask Simon for him, perhaps, so she can torment him all the time, until she gets bored.

He hates feeling like this, sick and cold and shaking and vulnerable. He hates her for her ability to strip away every ounce of self-respect and dignity he has. He hates himself for letting her do it, because, in the end, it’s not even about her as a person. Caroline’s no better or worse than anyone else who comes to the house to take, to take what they want because they can, to hurt and break and damage because they can. To rub in his face that he’s nothing, that he’s worthless.

Louis scrubs a hand over his face. He’s not going to cry. Not now.

He gets dressed, and he doesn’t feel quite so vulnerable then. He checks on Caroline again and is relieved to see there’s no sign of movement. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest and the pulse in her throat reassures him that she’s still alive. On impulse he checks her bag, rifling through the contents in case there’s anything useful. After a moment’s hesitation he eases the folded banknotes from her purse and tucks them away in his pocket. They’re already in deep enough that theft is a minor addition to their offences and, besides, they’re going to need money if by some miracle they actually make it out of here.

Ten minutes have passed since Harry left but it feels like longer, the air in the room grown heavy and cloying again. Louis paces from one side of the room to the other, trying to burn off some of his nervous energy. He can feel the panic clawing at his belly, threatening to overwhelm him. He can’t afford to give in to it, not now. The others are depending on him. _Harry_ is depending on him.

Finally, finally, he thinks he’s left it long enough. He checks Caroline again, scans the room one last time for anything else that might come in useful, and then he takes a final, shuddering breath and opens the door.

The guest wing is, predictably, silent and still. Louis carefully closes the door behind him and starts to walk, keeping close to the wall, walking more slowly and awkwardly than usual. If anyone’s watching the cameras or happens to be hanging around then he wants to look as victim-like as possible, but he doesn’t run into anyone.

The house looks deserted. It _feels_ deserted, and Louis feels his throat closing up, just a little, because it’s too much like good luck. There has to be something wrong, and he doesn’t know _what_ , exactly, but a hundred possibilities cross his mind and none of them good. He hesitates, torn between running upstairs to find Harry and the others, and pressing on. The urge to reassure himself that they’re ok is strong but he knows too that if he goes upstairs now it’s going to make everything else so much more difficult. And, he reminds himself, if there’s something really wrong then there’s nothing he can do now that will make the situation any worse.

He goes on, hugging close to the wall as he works his way towards Paul’s office, stopping every couple of steps to hold his breath and listen, straining to hear the slightest sound that might indicate whether there’s anyone around. But there’s nothing, no sound at all. Just his own heartbeat, as loud as a drum in his ears.

He considers knocking, quietly, just in case Paul’s inside. He hovers for a minute or two, ear pressed against the door, trying to work out if he can hear any movement inside the room or not. If the office is occupied then he’s going to be found out the second he types the code into the keypad and all the work they’ve done - him listening out for the code in the first place, all of them taking turns to test which key made which sound - will be for nothing. He grits his teeth, takes a deep breath, and taps in the code.

The door unlocks with a soft click. Louis pushes it open, suddenly calm. He’s past the point of no return and there’s an odd sense of freedom in knowing that. If there's someone in the room then he's going to get caught.

The room is empty. Heart pounding, Louis slips inside and closes the door behind him. The only light comes from the small desk light, which casts deep shadows in the corners of the room, but Louis doesn't dare turn the main light on. He'll just have to do as best he can - and hope that he finds the controller quickly. He has no idea where Paul actually keeps it and a quick scan of the desk and the wall shelves reveals nothing. He takes a second to scan the paperwork on the desk though, just in case there's anything interesting. In case there's anything that might tell him where Liam was taken.

Nothing. Frustrated, Louis turns to the desk drawers. To his relief they're unlocked and it takes just a few minutes for him to establish both that the controller isn't in any of them and that Paul has a secret addiction to boiled sweets. Louis pops one in his mouth; he thinks he needs the sugar.

He scans the room again, getting frantic now as the minutes tick away. They need the controller to get the collars off and if he can't find it soon he - and Harry too, almost certainly - are doomed. His gaze falls on an area of the carpet in the corner that looks more worn than normal, the edges where it meets the wall frayed and dirty. Louis frowns and steps closer, then drops to his knees and tugs hesitantly at one frayed fibre, pulling the carpet up and away from the floor. It comes easily, as if it's been lifted many times, and underneath it is a small, square metal plate set into the floor. Louis holds the carpet back with one hand and reaches for the recessed handle on the plate with the other, praying that it's not locked in some way.

It's not; the plate lifts up easily, revealing a void in the floor beneath that contains exactly what Louis has been looking for. He can barely breathe as he sets the plate aside and carefully lifts the controller out from its hiding place. Not wanting to waste any more time, he quickly puts it on the desk, ready to go, and gets to work replacing the plate and the carpet that covers it so that there's no sign it's been disturbed. He can't quite get the carpet back exactly how it was but he has to hope it will be enough. They only need a headstart; their absence will be noted soon enough anyway.

Grabbing the controller, Louis makes for the door. He hesitates for a moment before he opens it, pressing his head against the wood, but he can't hear anything outside. Which doesn't mean there isn't someone waiting for him. Taking a deep breath, he tightens his hold on the controller and carefully opens the door.

The hallway is empty. Louis edges around the room until he's back near to where he started and only then does he push away from the wall and make his way openly - under the cameras' watchful gaze - to the stairs, limping and rubbing his head. With any luck, he thinks, anyone watching the cameras will think he'd collapsed on his way back to his room, and won't notice the controller held tight against his side. Louis has no way of knowing how much time has passed; it could be minutes, it could be hours. It occurs to him how strange it is that he's seen no one, that there's no sound of movement anywhere on the ground floor of the house. He can hear someone moving around upstairs - Harry's room - but nothing else. As if everyone else has fled and left them alone.

The others are waiting for him in Harry's room, Zayn sitting on the floor next to the window, Niall on the bed, and Harry pacing from one side of the room to the other. Harry opens his mouth to speak when Louis walks in and Louis frantically waves him to silence. Zayn makes a questioning gesture; Louis shows him the controller in his hand and Zayn grins.

_Knew you could do it_ , he mouths.

Louis smiles. He can feel exhaustion tugging at him, the initial burst of adrenaline spent now. He knows it's dangerous; they can't afford to relax. He turns to face Harry, who has come closer without Louis noticing and now stands within touching distance, his eyes fixed on the new and livid bruise on Louis' wrist.

"It's ok," Louis whispers. "Doesn't hurt." On impulse he brushes his fingertips against Harry's arm, not liking the troubled expression on his face. "Come on."

Harry's expression clears a little and he points out the bundle of food he's clearly brought up from the kitchen, folded into a tea towel as a makeshift bag.

"Good boy," Louis says teasingly, and Harry blushes and smiles.

Zayn stands up, gesturing at Niall to do the same before turning to Louis with a questioning look on his face. Louis nods. It's time to go. Now or never.

"You don't have to do this," he says clearly. He has no choice but to run, but Niall and Zayn don't and he has to give them the choice. Has to know they understand what it is they're doing.

Zayn gives him a faintly disbelieving look and Niall rolls his eyes. _Get on with it_ , he mouths.

"Let me get changed," Louis says. "I'm cold." He could do with a shower too but there isn't time. He leaves the controller with Zayn and hurries to his own room, stripping off the clothes he'd been dressed in and pulling on the warmest clothes he owns in their place. He takes a last look around his room, at the things he's earned, over time. Rationally he knows that it's always been an illusion of safety, that nothing in this room is truly his, that none of it really means anything, but he's been here a long time and it's still his and the knowledge that - whatever happens - he won't see it again leaves him with a lingering sense of regret. He won't sleep in his bed again, won't wake up to the sunlight streaming into the room, won't ever sit on the window ledge and watch the rain.

The door opens slightly, breaking into his reverie. It's Zayn.

"Ready?"

Louis nods. "Yeah."

Zayn has made his own makeshift bag from a pillowcase and he shows Louis the forged documents inside. The others are waiting on the landing. It's time.

***

"Something's wrong," Zayn says quietly, giving voice to everything that's been nagging at Louis ever since he came back to the house. The feeling of wrongness is elusive, hard to pin down to anything concrete.

The four of them are standing in the shadows at the corner of the house, having safely made the climb down from Louis' window despite a near miss when Harry had completely misjudged the step across from the window ledge to the downpipe they had used as a ladder and only Zayn's quick reactions had prevented him falling to the ground. Louis is trying very hard not to think about what would have happened if he hadn't. Harry would have broken one or both of his legs, at the very least, and they would have had to leave him: there's no way they could have brought him with them. Louis tells himself they would have left him, anyway, because he has to stay rational, for all their sakes.

"Can you see anyone?" Louis asks.

Zayn shakes his head. "No. Nothing."

"Doesn't mean they're not there," Niall says. "Should we take the collars off now?"

"No," Louis says at once. "Not yet. Not until we're nearer the boundary."

"What if we get too close and accidentally set them off?" Harry protests.

"If we get seen now at least we can still bullshit about sneaking out," Louis says exasperatedly. "Take them off now and it's obvious what we're doing. And what would we do with them? Leave them on the path for the next guard to fall over? That wouldn't be obvious, would it?"

Harry's head drops a little. "Yeah, ok." he mumbles.

"Are we going?" Zayn asks.

Louis glances up at the sky. They can't leave it too much longer. "Yeah. Come on."

He has a path marked out in his head, a circuitous route that leads them towards the boundary via every bit of shade possible. It's not foolproof - the very first stage is thirty paces across a stretch of open grass before they reach the shelter of a yew tree - but it's as good as he can make it.

"All together or one at a time?" Zayn asks.

"One at a time." Louis takes a deep breath. "I'll go first."

He can feel their eyes on him as he steps out onto the grass, out of the shade and into the moonlight. They hadn't planned for this; every plan they'd come up with had involved waiting for a moonless, overcast night, and it's just their bad luck that tonight the sky is clear and the moon is nearly full. Louis thinks he might as well have painted a target on himself and with every step he expects to hear the first shout of alarm, or see someone moving towards him from the shadows. But there's no one, and he makes it safely to the shelter of the tree canopy with no sign that anyone has noticed. He looks back to the house and waves a hand.

Niall comes next, trying and failing to walk as casually as Louis had instructed him to. Louis can see the tension in his body, the way his head is hunched into his shoulders, as if trying to make himself smaller and less noticeable. Louis holds his breath until Niall is safely in the tree's shadows with him and then he turns to look at where Harry is following. If he squints he can see Zayn too, almost hidden in the shadow of the house. He looks round, straining to pick up the slightest noise that might warn them of anyone approaching.

Nothing. There's nothing; no sound, no movement. Just Harry, tall, gangling Harry, a moving target as he crosses the grass towards them.

Harry almost falls into the sanctuary of the tree canopy, and now it's Zayn's turn. He doesn't hang around; Louis sees him hesitate, just for a second, at the edge of the path, and then he steps out, stepping in Harry's footprints.

"All right?" Louis asks when Zayn reaches them.

Zayn shrugs. "Thought I heard something," is all he says.

Louis doesn't need to ask any more. If Zayn says he thinks he heard something then Louis knows he probably did hear something. Which means they need to keep moving. Luckily the next waypoint is a line of low bushes that leads directly towards the boundary, which will give them good camouflage from anyone looking from the house. Needed camouflage - the sky is starting to lighten. Not quite dawn, not yet, but the new day is creeping up on them and they don't have long now.

"This way," Louis says, nudging Niall to indicate that he should follow him.

They stick together for this stage, since they're not crossing such an open expanse of grass. Even though it makes them more of a target Louis feels less exposed and he's glad they don't have to wait again when they reach the shelter of the bushes.

"How far now?" Niall asks.

"Over to the ash, there," Louis responds. "We'll take the collars off there, and then it's just down that last bit of grass to the boundary line."

"Why under there?" Harry says. He's been quiet so far: probably still in shock, Louis thinks. "Do you know how the controller works?"

"I know how to shock someone and how to release the collar." Louis pulls a face, even though he knows Harry probably can't see it in the darkness. "I think I can remember which one's which."

"That's reassuring," Zayn says sarcastically.

"You've had a shock before," Louis points out. "It's not that bad."

Harry makes a spluttering sound and Louis remembers that, for Harry, it had been that bad, and instantly feels guilty.

"You'll get the right one," Niall says before anyone can say anything else. "Let's go." He elbows Louis, not unkindly.

By the time they get to the ash tree none of them feel like arguing. The wind has got up, bitterly cold, and Louis can smell snow in the air. He wishes now he'd put more layers on but it's too late to go back to the house.

"Ready?" Zayn asks.

Louis fumbles for the controller, tucked safely away in his jacket. "Yeah. Who's first?"

"Me," says Harry, unexpectedly.

There's a second of silence and then Zayn says, "I was going to volunteer but it's ok, you be the hero."

"No hard feelings?" Harry asks. He's trying to keep his voice light but Louis can hear the faint tremor in it. Harry is scared, and Louis doesn't blame him in the slightest. He's scared too, his fingers trembling as he turns the dial on the controller to select Harry's collar.

"No hard feelings," Zayn says. His voice wavers a little, like he’s debating telling Louis to stop, that this has gone too far and maybe they should go back to the house. And Louis can understand that: if it wasn’t for the thought of Caroline lying unconscious, damning them, he might feel the same. For all he knows she’s already come round and that thought drives him on, helps him push through his own indecision and doubt.

Louis holds the controller up to Harry's neck, even though he knows, logically, it doesn't have to be that close to the collar to work. His hands are shaking so much he nearly drops it and Harry seems to sense his nervousness, even though Louis is standing behind him, because he reaches back and squeezes Louis' arm.

"Do it," he says quietly.

Louis' fingers hover over the two buttons that have to be pressed at the same time to release the collar. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and presses down, fully expecting to hear the awful, final crack of the collar snapping tight.

Instead there's a small, almost undetectable click, and the collar slips down Harry's neck. Louis stares at it in disbelief as Zayn starts to laugh softly.

"One down," Niall says cheerfully, pushing Harry out of the way so he can stand in front of Louis. Harry goes, stumbling a little, his hands reaching for the collar like he can't quite believe it's unlocked.

Louis does Niall, and then Zayn, and then he shows Zayn how to do it so his own collar can be released.

He's not sure what he expected to feel when the ever-present pressure was removed. He's worn a collar for so long he feels almost naked with it, a strange, giddy, terrifying sensation that simultaneously makes him want to curl up into a ball on the ground and run around screaming with joy.

“What now?” Zayn asks. “Are we too early?”

Louis shakes his head. “No. Don’t think so. Haven’t heard anything. Come on; we need to get moving.”

They pile their discarded collars together on the ground, the controller laid on top. It’s almost ceremonial, somehow decided on between them without any of them saying a word. None of them look back at the house but Louis knows he’s not the only one listening intently for the first sound of alarm.

They stay together for the final leg of their journey. If they get caught now it won’t matter if it’s all of them or one of them; their collars are gone and there’s no passing that off as an innocent moonlight stroll. Louis can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as they walk towards the boundary. He can feel his muscles tensing involuntarily too, already anticipating an attack.

They reach the boundary. Niall reflexively tugs at a collar that isn’t there as Zayn takes the lead and pushes through the bushes to the low fence that marks the border of the estate, the border of Louis’ life for longer than he cares to think about. Beyond the fence lies a shallow drainage ditch, and then the ground rises to the railway tracks.

“Go on,” Louis says when Zayn hesitates.

The fence isn’t even waist height and Zayn steps over it easily; Louis has to scramble a little and Niall lets out a quiet, gulping laugh as he too struggles before Zayn steadies him and helps him over.

Harry doesn’t follow them straightaway and Louis sees him look back at the house, hesitating.

“Harry?” Louis prompts.

Harry turns back. “Thought I heard something,” he whispers.

The three of them immediately drop to all fours. Louis turns his head, straining to hear whatever it was Harry heard, but all he can hear is his own heart, hammering in his chest, and his ragged breathing. Harry is still standing on the other side of the fence, silhouetted against the sky.

“Get over here,” Louis hisses at Harry, and Harry quickly steps over the fence, dropping to his knees at Louis’ side.

“What did you hear?” Zayn asks.

“Like a twig snapping.” Harry leans in closer to Louis, and Louis wonders if he even knows he’s doing it. “Like someone stepped on a twig.”

“Fuck,” Niall breathes.

“How close?” Louis asks.

“Not that near.”

“They don’t have to be,” Zayn points out. “If they’ve got the dog, they can track us.”

“If they knew we were all out here, we’d know about it,” Louis says, trying to sound confident. “They wouldn’t be sneaking around. If it’s anything - and it could be a fucking rabbit Harry heard - then it’s one guard patrolling. And you know they only take the dog out twice a day.”

“Not if they know we’re here,” Zayn says stubbornly. “Not if they’re just…”

“Just what?” But Louis knows. He’s been trying not to think the same thing.

“Toying with us. Letting us think we’ve got away.”

“You think Paul has the patience for that shit? No way.”

“Caroline would.”

He’s right, and they’re all silent for a moment before Niall says:

“So, are we staying here all night?”

Louis elbows him, but Niall’s right and Louis is overwhelmingly grateful to him for distracting them from thoughts he certainly doesn’t want to have. They can’t cower in a ditch for ever and the sky is already lighter than it was when they were removing the collars. They need to get moving, before it’s too late.

“Yeah, come on.”

“How far do we have to walk?”

“Not far.” Louis isn’t sure, if he’s honest. He’s never been able to see exactly where the trains slow for a minute or two, just before they cross the bridge that runs over the road that leads up to the house, only hear them do so. “We’ll walk on the tracks, that way we’ll hear them coming. Hopefully with a bit of warning.”

In the end, they feel the train coming before they hear it; a vibration in the track bed that’s almost imperceptible at first but soon begins to filter into their awareness. By that time they’ve skirted the boundary of the estate and are nearly at the end of it. They’re walking in single file, Louis in the lead, and when he stops they all stop too.

“It’s coming,” he says. “Quick, we need to get under cover, so the driver doesn’t see us.”

The only available cover is the bushes at the side of the track and they fall over each other scrambling down the embankment. They can hear the rumble of the train now, getting closer and closer, and Louis swallows down the sickness in his stomach. If this doesn’t go right - if it doesn’t work the way they think it will - then he doesn’t know what they’re going to do.

“Hey,” Harry says, very softly. His hand settles on Louis’ thigh, a warm, reassuring touch. “Ready?”

It’s light enough that Louis can see his face, still dark enough that his features are softened. He can see Harry’s smile clearly enough but he’s not sure if he’s imagining the quiet trust he thinks he sees in Harry’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m ready.”

Harry’s hand squeezes his thigh and then the train rounds the last corner before the estate and it’s coming towards them, running down the straight length of track towards the bridge, and Louis can’t be sure but it looks like it’s going too quickly, like there’s no way it’s going to brake in time-

“It’s going too fast,” Niall says, forgetting to lower his voice. Not that it matters; right next to the track the noise of the train drowns out anything they might say.

“No,” Zayn says. “It can’t go over the bridge at that speed.”

For several agonising seconds it looks like the train isn’t going to slow down at all but just when Louis is really starting to panic he hears the hiss of its brakes. It still looks to be going more quickly than the trains usually do but it’s slowing down as it approaches their hiding place.

“Down,” he says, and they all duck down as much as they can as the cab passes them by, pressing their hands against the shaking ground. Louis feels horribly exposed but the rational part of his mind reminds him that it’s still very early, still pre-dawn, and they’re crouching in the shadows, far below the driver’s high perch in the cab. If they stay still, there’s no reason for the driver to see them. It’s hard to think rationally, though, when his bones are vibrating and his whole world is heat and noise and diesel fumes. He catches hold of Harry’s arm, tugging at his sleeve.

“Now,” he says, even though he knows Harry won’t hear him. It doesn’t matter; Harry understands. They’re all on their feet, running up the embankment behind him, no longer caring around being seen.

The train has slowed down but it’s still moving more quickly than Louis had anticipated and he has to run to keep up with it. He risks a look back down the length of it, and sees that three quarters of it has already passed by and there are only six wagons behind them.

“Jump!” he yells back to Harry, gesturing frantically. He doesn’t look back again, just matches his own speed as best he can to the wagons, and jumps before he has time to have second thoughts, grabbing for the rail that runs along the rear of the wagons. The rusted metal scrapes his hands but Louis doesn’t care; he scrambles over the rail and onto the narrow ledge beyond it and starts to climb up the sloping back of the wagon. When he reaches the top, he stops and looks back, right into Harry’s grinning face.

Harry is sitting on top of the wagon behind, kicking his heels against the side of the wagon like it’s a fun day out for him and not the desperate escape of a group of fugitives that it is. Louis can’t help grinning back, shaking his head at how ridiculously happy Harry looks. Beyond Harry he can see Zayn and Niall, on the very last wagon. When he sees Louis looking, Zayn waves and gives him a thumbs up. Louis lets out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and finally looks around.

To him it’s been a second or two, no more, but actually, he realises, several minutes have passed since he jumped for the train and they’re over the bridge now, the train accelerating, the estate already left behind. Belatedly Louis works out that the mildly unpleasant smell in his nostrils is whatever cargo is under the tarpaulins below him and he pulls a face.

“What’s in yours?” he yells to Harry, pointing at the wagon.

Harry looks confused for a second, and then he climbs down on top of the cargo and crouches to peer under the tarpaulin.

“Boxes,” he shouts back.

“Do they smell?”

Harry reappears at the front of the wagon, closer to Louis. “Not really,” he shouts.

“Fine,” Louis says decisively. “I’m coming over there.”

It’s probably a stupid decision - Louis isn’t going to think what could happen if he slips or loses his balance as he climbs back down the outside of the wagon, onto the ledge, and over the rail. The gap between the wagons isn’t that big but the train is moving fast now and his survival chances are probably zero if he falls.

Louis jumps, pure adrenaline driving him over the rail and onto the ledge of Harry’s wagon. And Harry is there to help him up to the top of the wagon and over into its sanctuary. They collapse together on top of the boxes, hidden by the wagon sides.

“That was fucking stupid,” Harry tells him, trying and failing to sound stern.

“My wagon smelled,” Louis says. This one doesn’t. All he can smell is Harry, familiar and reassuring.

“Are we going to-”

“No.” Louis can’t face jumping another four times to get to Zayn and Niall. “They’ll be ok. Anyway, we’ll be in the tunnel soon.”

Harry nods. “Ok,” he says. “What do we do now?”

Louis glances up at the sky. “The sun’s going to rise soon. We should sleep.”

“Should one of us stay awake, like-”

“No,” Louis says authoritatively. “We need to rest. Don’t know it’ll be before we can sleep again.” He doesn’t add that if anyone sees them it doesn’t matter if one of them is on guard or not.

“Ok,” Harry says again.

It’s not a particularly comfortable bed - Louis feels a twinge of nostalgia for his bed back at the house, his warm, comfortable bed - but they manage to rip a section of the tarpaulin away to make a rudimentary cover and curl up back to back underneath it, sharing body heat as best they can. Despite his words to Harry, Louis is sure he won’t be able to fall asleep, but the rocking motion of the train is oddly lulling and as soon as he lies down and closes his eyes exhaustion overwhelms him and he’s asleep within minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading, thank you! I've had some RL (family) issues lately that have taken a lot of my time so I haven't been able to update as much as I'd like. But thank you for all the lovely comments; I really appreciate them!
> 
> This chapter expands the (obviously very AU) world a little. There have been glimpses of the "real" world in previous chapters but now the boys have escaped things are going to be very different for them as they learn how to survive and also how to deal with the after-effects of what they've been through. 
> 
> Sidenote: I wrote (a) final chapter for this first, back in 2012, before I decided I wanted to know how they'd got to that place. It was not a happy ending and I cried so much writing it I gave myself a headache so I probably won't use that ~~or show it to anyone ever~~.
> 
> Thanks again for reading :)

It’s raining when Louis wakes up, but that isn’t what wakes him. He pokes his head out from under the tarpaulin and squints at what he can see of the sky. It’s dark and overcast and hard to tell what time it is: there is no sign of the sun and nothing to orientate himself. It could be morning, afternoon, or another day entirely.

Louis stretches experimentally and winces as his body reminds him forcefully of how he’s exerted himself. He aches everywhere and his stomach hurts and he desperately wants a shower, but at least he isn’t as cold as he might have expected; Harry is curled up against his back, radiating heat. Normally Louis would have shrunk from the contact but he’s reluctant to move away from that warmth and, besides, Harry is still asleep and Louis doesn’t want to wake him.

He stretches again, more cautiously this time. He has no idea how far they’ve travelled while he’s been asleep. The sides of the wagon are too high for him to be able to see anything; the same reason it’s hard to judge how fast they’re moving. He can feel that they are slowing down though, and he realises now that that is the reason for him waking up, the change in motion enough to disturb him from an uneasy and uncomfortable sleep. Immediately he’s on edge, wondering if this is it, if the train is being stopped in order to catch them. He hesitates, indecisive, but finally begins to ease himself out from under the tarpaulin, regretfully separating himself from the warmth of Harry’s body.

The climb up to the top of the wagon is harder than it had been in the early hours of the morning; at some point during their escape he's pulled a muscle in his shoulder, unnoticed at the time, but now that the adrenaline of their flight has worn off he can feel it every time he moves his arm. The steadily-falling rain makes it difficult too, and his foot slips more than once as he clambers up until he is sitting on the sill. It occurs to him, after the fact, that perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to climb up into the open, where he can be easily seen, and he curses his own lack of thought. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, and that means he’s not thinking clearly. He’s making mistakes he can’t afford to make. That _they_ can’t afford for him to make.

Luckily his mistake doesn't seem to matter: the train is passing through open countryside and Louis can’t see any sign of human habitation in the valley the line runs through. On each side of the track the ground rises sharply, and the higher slopes are densely wooded. Still, though, the train is slowing, and Louis can’t see the reason for it. He looks back but there is no sign of Niall and Zayn in the last wagon. He can only hope that they are safely asleep or resting.

He looks around again. Still no sign of civilisation. He throws dignity to the wind and relieves himself over the side of the wagon.

When he’s done he makes himself comfortable on the sill of the wagon, where he can look around in relative comfort. Sounds from behind and below him alert him to the fact that Harry has woken up and is moving around. Louis stays where he is, not turning round as Harry climbs up to perch next to him.

"Why are we slowing down?" Harry asks. His voice is deeper than usual, still raspy from sleep.

"No idea." Louis frowns. He still can't see much but he thinks he can make out some buildings up ahead. That isn't good news. "I don't know how far we've come."

Harry shivers. "It's fucking cold," he says. “And I want a piss.”

"Yeah." Louis doesn't feel cold, which is worrying because he knows, logically, that he _should_. He’s aware of the rain falling on him, of how wet his hair and face are, but he doesn't feel the chill of it on his skin the way he should. “Do it over the side. Aim downwind.”

Harry looks confused for a moment and then he laughs. “Learn that from experience?”

“Just my natural intelligence.” Louis gives him a gentle push towards the side of the wagon. “Be quick.”

"We should get back under the tarpaulin," Harry says when he’s done. The back of his hand brushes against Louis' hand, cold as ice, and Louis flinches away. "Shit,” he says. “You're really warm."

"I'm fine," Louis lies. "Yeah, let's keep dry. Don't want you getting a cold."

Harry pouts at him but doesn't ask any more questions about Louis' temperature, which is fine by Louis. They climb back down and make themselves a shelter of sorts by draping the tarpaulin over themselves as they sit close together with their backs against one side of the wagon, their knees drawn up to conserve as much heat as possible.

"Do you think the others are ok?” Harry asks once they’re settled. “Should we go and check?"

"They're fine," Louis says, hoping he sounds reassuring. "Zayn knows what to do. And unless you want to fall under the wheels ... no, you're not going to check. We'll get them when we get off."

"Which is when?"

And, ok, Louis hadn't got around to discussing this part of the plan with Harry because the truth is that Louis hadn't really thought this part through, hadn't expected to need to think this part through. Hadn't dared to hope that he'd ever need to think about exactly what would happen once they escaped the estate. Perhaps if they'd had more time - if they'd been able to do the research that he'd discussed with Zayn, wheedled information out of the guards, out of the guests to the estate - then he might have been better prepared, but as it is he is effectively flying blind and it’s terrifying if he lets himself think too much about it.

"When we're somewhere safe," he says, stalling.

"We've nearly stopped now," Harry points out, reasonably.

"Yeah, but we don't know where we are,” Louis argues. Harry is right though: the train is barely moving.

Harry is quiet for a moment and then he says, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Louis twists round to look at him properly and it hits him suddenly how much _older_ Harry looks, how much his time in the house has stripped away the naive innocence that ensnared Louis in the first place, drawn the colour from his cheeks and left him pale and a little drawn. Impulsively he touches his thumb to Harry’s neck, just under his ear, and Harry leans into it as if he’s been starved for touch. “For what, Harry?”

“I fucked up,” Harry says softly.

“When did you fuck up?”

“Last night.” Harry picks unhappily at his sleeve. “We weren’t ready.”

Louis turns it over in his mind. Harry’s right, in a way. “Maybe,” he says softly. “Maybe we would never have been ready?”

Harry blinks owlishly at him, confused.

“I mean we wouldn’t have _dared_ be ready,” Louis clarifies. “Too scared. Too busy waiting for the perfect moment. We needed a push. You gave us a push.”

Harry looks like he’s thinking about it for a moment and then he smiles, wobbly and unsure. “I gave Caroline a push.”

Louis huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.” He lets his thumb slide a little lower, down to the faint mark where the collar once rested. “Don’t feel guilty about that.”

“I couldn’t-” Harry stops, flushing. “I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

_She wasn’t_ , Louis thinks. _Not really. Not in the way you think_. But he doesn’t say it.

“Is that-” Harry hesitates, obviously trying to think of the best way to put it. “Is that how she always was with you?”

Louis looks away. He doesn’t really want to talk about Caroline but he thinks maybe he owes Harry this, at least. “No,” he admits. “Usually it was worse than that.”

“She wasn’t like that with me,” Harry says, and he sounds almost lost, like he still doesn’t understand, despite everything. Louis tries to think of a way to explain it but it’s hard with Harry; Louis keeps thinking of him in the same way he thinks of the others and he forgets that Harry is new to the entire concept of being owned, of his own wants and desires being completely and irrevocably irrelevant to _them_. New to the despair and hopelessness that have been a part of Louis’ life for so long he barely remembers how to live without them.

“Before you-” Louis’ caught the habit of breaking off sentences now; he coughs to cover his hesitation and presses on. “Before you got arrested and, and-”

“Sold,” Harry sounds almost amused, all of a sudden. “You can say it.”

“Yeah.” Louis pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Before you came, I’d never met anyone who got sold when they were older. Who knew what it was like … outside.”

“Being free,” Harry says, more gently.

“Yeah.” As he pauses for breath the train comes to a complete stop and Louis hears the hiss of air as the brakes are applied.

Harry looks at him. He needs to make a decision.

“We don't know how far south we are,” Louis says slowly. “What's around us, anything. For all we know there's a fucking army camp right over there.”

Harry is quiet for a minute or two and then he says:

"I'm going to look."

“No,” Louis says at once.

“We need to know,” Harry argues, and starts to move.

"Harry!" Louis tries to grab at him, to prevent him pushing the tarpaulin aside and climbing out of their hiding place, but his injured arm can’t quite move quickly enough and Harry twists out of his grip with unexpected agility and scrambles up to peer over the edge of the sill before Louis can stop him.

"It's ok," he says after a moment. "It's a yard, like with other trains. I think it's storage or something."

Louis gives in and extricates himself from the tarpaulin too. He grits his teeth against the pain of his strained muscles as he pulls himself up besides Harry.

There’s no army camp in sight. They’ve arrived into what looked like a marshalling yard, grey and run-down and apparently deserted. On one side of them is another train consisting of similar-looking wagons; on the other are three dilapidated passenger carriages. Some of the windows of the carriages are smashed and colourful graffiti has been sprayed across the panel-work and, going by the rust on the wheels and chassis, Louis thinks it’s unlikely that it will ever move again. It might do as a hiding place though, for now.

Somewhere off to his right comes a small, soft crack, as if someone has just stepped on a twig. Louis looks around sharply: the yard seems deserted but their train had a driver and there are ten or so other trains that might also have a human at the controls, and over on the other side of the yard Louis can see a couple of long, low buildings that might contain anything. For all he knows, they’ve already been seen. They could be surrounded already.

“What are we going to do?” Harry asks softly, breaking into Louis’ mounting panic.

“Get off this train,” he manages to get out.

“Ok,” Harry says at once, not even questioning it. “We can take, like, bits of the tarpaulin. Keep us dry.”

“Yeah. Or- I don’t-” Louis breaks off, grabbing at Harry’s arm to drag him back down into the safety of the wagon. “Stop. Wait.”

Harry is looking at him so trustingly, and that’s the worst part of it. As if Louis knows what to do, knows what the right course of action is, when the truth is that Louis has no idea at all what to do next, no idea how to cope with the panic welling up inside him. And if Harry _knew_ , if Harry knew just how terrified Louis is, how part of him wants to run all the way back to the house and the safety of his room and falls to his knees to beg for forgiveness … well, Louis doesn’t even want to think about that.

Doesn’t want Harry to see the truth behind the lie.

He plasters on a smile he hopes looks reassuring and says:

“We should get the others, yeah?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, ok.”

“Yeah.” Louis takes a deep breath, and then another. In and out. “Come on then.”

If there’s anyone watching, anyone at all, this is the time they’re going to get seen, Louis thinks as he scrambles down the side of the wagon, Harry close behind. They’re just so _loud_ , the track ballast crunching beneath their feet as they make their way along the side of the train even though they’re both trying to move carefully. Loud enough that they’re still passing the penultimate wagon when Zayn sticks his head over the sill of the last one and says:

“Can hear you two coming a mile off!”

Up until that moment, right up until Niall’s head pokes up next to Zayn’s, there’d been a part of Louis that had feared the worst. That hadn’t dared to believe that they could all make it. Louis has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing with relief at the sight of the two of them.

“You coming up here?” Niall asks. He has a scrape down his cheek, red and raw. It doesn’t look too serious, as far as Louis can tell.

“No,” he says. “You get down here. We’re changing trains.”

“Ok,” Niall says amiably. “It smells in here anyway. And I’m hungry.”

“Good luck with that,” Zayn says under his breath, but Niall doesn’t hear, too busy pulling himself up onto the sill so he can climb down. For Louis it’s just another reminder that escaping wasn’t an end in itself; now they have a whole new set of problems they are singularly unequipped to deal with.

“We’ll hide out in one of those carriages for a bit,” Louis tells them when Zayn and Niall are on the ground. “We can collect rainwater to drink and it’ll be warmer than this train.”

“It’s also not moving,” Zayn points out.

“I know.” Louis runs a hand distractedly through his hair. “But I’m not staying on this train.”

Zayn stares at him for a long, long moment before he finally nods and says:

“Ok. But we need to move on.”

“Later,” Louis promises. “When it’s dark. It’s too light now.”

“Are we getting on another train?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” The rain, which had eased a little, is now starting up again in earnest and Louis hunches in on himself, trying to preserve what little body heat he has. “Depends how often trains go out of here. We’ll rest up for now, stay out of sight, watch to see how this place works, yeah?”

They all nod agreement, even if Zayn’s is a little reluctant. Louis doesn’t blame him.

Getting to their chosen hiding place turns out to be easier than Louis expects: once they’ve picked out the carriage with the fewest smashed windows, it’s just a case of taking turns to make the dash across the short expanse of open ground between the tracks, before climbing up to the carriage itself. He’d been concerned that the doors would be locked in some way, but the first door he tries opens with only a tiny screech of protest.

The gloomy interior of the carriage is every bit as uninviting as the exterior suggested: the seats have been ripped out and only holes in the floor mark where they once stood. Every surface is covered in a layer of grime and cobwebs festoon the roof space. The smell of damp and rot permeates every surface.

“Cosy,” Niall says cheerfully. Zayn rolls his eyes at Louis.

“Someone has strange ideas about _cosy_.”

“We can have a picnic,” Harry says.

Niall groans. “Don’t talk to me about food, yeah?” He kicks discontentedly at part of the panelling that’s coming away from the wall.

“Not nice to wind him up, Harry,” Zayn says, winking at Louis.

“I’m not.” Harry rolls up his shirt and pulls out the bundle of food Louis had assumed he’d dropped when they were running for the train. When he sees them all staring, Harry grins. “It’s not much,” he says. “But it’s food.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“You didn’t feel like mentioning this before?” Zayn says eventually.

“It never came up.”

“Never-” Louis stops, shaking his head. “Yeah, doesn’t matter. Let’s eat.”

They sit in a companionable circle in what seems to be the cleanest part of the carriage to eat, and Louis pretends he doesn’t notice Harry breaking a segment off his share of the bread to slip into Louis’ lap. Louis waits until he’s talking to Niall, looking away, to discreetly drop half of his cheese into Harry’s lap.

He looks up to find Zayn watching, smirking. Louis flips him off and studiously looks at the wall instead, where a colony of spiders have constructed an elaborate array of webs.

"Do you think they know we're missing?" Niall asks around a mouthful of food.

Zayn snorts. "Yeah, I think they probably know by now. When you didn't appear for breakfast, they knew something was up."

"Do you think they've found her?" Harry says quietly. He's looking at Louis again.

No one else answers and Louis thinks they're watching him too. He sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, I think they've found her by now." He reaches out, squeezes Harry's knee. "She's not dead. You saw her. She was breathing. And you don’t need to feel guilty."

Harry nods but he's looking down, not meeting Louis' eyes.

"So what now?" Zayn asks. "We keep going?"

"Yeah." Louis takes another bite of his bread. It's going stale and he could do with something to drink to wash it down but for all he knows it could be the last food he gets for a while so he forces himself to swallow it. "We'll rest up here for a bit, then find another way out."

Zayn nods. "Ok. We should sleep. Take it in turns.” Then, before Louis can say anything, he adds, “Niall and I will take the first watch.”

Louis wants to protest but he’s so _tired_ , a bone-deep exhaustion he’s never felt before. His head hurts and his joints ache and he knows it’s not good, knows he’s coming down with something. Zayn is looking at him pointedly and it’s easier to nod agreement instead.

He doesn’t bother trying to make himself a comfortable sleeping spot, just curls up on his side on the floor and closes his eyes. He’s dimly aware of the others moving around, of Harry curling up next to him, but their activity hovers at the edges of his awareness, pushed aside by the onrushing comfort of sleep.

***

When Louis opens his eyes again the headache is worse and he’s drenched in sweat. He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep but the carriage is dark and quiet. He starts to lift his head but a hand presses down on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“It’s all right,” Harry says, very softly. “Don’t move.”

“I-” Louis rasps. His throat feels like sandpaper.

“Here.” Something presses against his lips and he feels a dribble of cool liquid. Water.

“Where-”

“Don’t try to talk,” Harry chides. “It’s just rainwater.”

Louis doesn’t have the energy to pull a face and he’s not sure Harry would even see it if he could. Maybe it doesn’t matter that he’s just drunk rainwater that’s full of who knows what out of a plastic container; the way his body seems to be trying to incinerate himself he’s not sure there’s room for any more bugs in there.

“You’re burning up,” Harry says, more gently, pressing the back of his hand against Louis’ forehead.

“We- we should … move on.” It’s an effort to get the words out but Louis struggles on. “Leave … me.”

“No way,” Harry says immediately. “Not leaving you.”

Louis’ hand fumbles for Harry’s arm in the darkness, fists in his sleeve in a way Louis hopes is authoritative. “Got to. Got to move.”

Harry shrugs him off easily. “We will. Zayn and Niall are out scouting now. We’ll get out of here, when you’re better.”

“No-”

“No _nos_ , Louis,” Harry says. He leans in, like Louis isn’t germ-riddled and sweaty and disgusting, close enough that Louis can feel his breath on his face. “You’re always looking after us; let us look after you.”

Louis wants to argue, wants to point out exactly where Harry has it wrong and what they should be doing instead, but he’s exhausted again already. He turns his face against Harry’s knee and goes back to sleep.

***

_It’s all right, Louis_ , she says, petting his hair. _It’s going to be all right_.

He doesn’t understand, not really. But he knows that this is somehow going to make it all right for them. His sister’s going to get the medical care she needs, his family will be able to eat. This is his responsibility now, what he needs to do for them.

_They won’t hurt you_ , she says, and he believes her because she’s his mother and she’s never lied to him before.

Maybe it isn’t entirely a lie. They won’t hurt him. They’ll look after him, in their own way, until years have passed and he’s old enough to be sold again.

_Please don’t leave me_ , he begs her, but she only smiles sadly and turns her back on him and the last he sees of her is her walking away.

***

He turns his head from side to side, frantically seeking out something, anything, to focus on, but the blindfold over his eyes blocks out everything and he sees only darkness.

Feels only pain.

_What do you see, Louis?_ Simon asks softly.

_Nothing_ , Louis whispers. He shudders as Simon’s finger traces across his chest.

_Nothing_ , Simon parrots. The finger moves lower. _You see nothing, Louis, because you_ are _nothing_.

Simon’s hand splays across his breastbone, a fiery brand on his chest. Louis gasps.

_You should be grateful to me, Louis._

_I am_ , Louis says desperately. _I am grateful_.

_I paid a lot of money for you_ , Simon says, relentless. _Don’t you think I should get my money’s worth? Don’t you think you owe me that?_

Louis turns his head away as Simon’s hand moves again, letting the thick material of the blindfold soak up his tears.

***

Her cloying perfume surrounds him, filling his lungs, sinking into his skin. He tries to turn his head but her hand catches his hair, tugs until he stops moving.

_Don’t you want this, Louis?_

He crawls on his hands and knees across the painted floorboards with her hand in his hair and the jeers and catcalls of the other women in his ears.

_You’ll do exactly what I want you to, Louis._

He knows, he knows she won’t indulge him however much he begs, but he tries anyway, straining towards her touch even as she pulls her hand away from his cock.

_You don’t deserve to enjoy it, Louis_.

He’s bound so tightly he can barely move at all, nothing more than a doll for her amusement, her entertainment. She smiles down at him, her hair a golden halo around her face.

_You’re mine now, Louis, and you only exist on my terms._

_No_ , he thinks. _I’m not yours_. But he already is.

_I’m going to hurt you now_ , she says, and Louis screams with her laughter ringing in his ears.

And then there’s only clinging darkness, dragging him down into oblivion.

***

Zayn is sitting with him when the fever breaks.

“Want one of these?” Zayn asks, holding out a packet of some sort of biscuits.

“Where did you find those?” Louis’ voice is shot and it comes out as little more than a breathy rasp but, surprisingly, he actually feels better. Cold and filthy and drained but _better_.

Zayn grins, arranging himself more comfortably on the floor next to Louis. “Niall found them in one of the huts. Someone must have left them there.” Seeing Louis’ expression, he adds, “Don’t worry; we’ve been careful. There are three guys working here and they hate each other. They’re too busy avoiding each other to notice us.”

Louis takes a biscuit. He doesn’t feel hungry but he knows he needs to eat. “How long have I been asleep?”

“All night.” Zayn gestures at the windows. “Hard to tell in here, I know, but it’s ok out there today. Not raining.”

“Makes a change.”

Zayn grins ruefully. “Yeah. How’re you feeling?”

“Shit.” The biscuit tastes disgusting but Louis dutifully chews it. “Where are the others?”

“Taking a bath.” At Louis’ disbelieving look, Zayn laughs. “There’s a water butt behind one of the buildings. Not the best but it gets you clean.”

“What about-”

“They don’t go back there. As long as you stick close to the perimeter fence you’ll be fine.”

Louis nods. A bath, even if it’s in a water butt, sounds tempting. Anything to get clean. The scent of Caroline’s perfume still lingers on his skin, a ghostly echo of her presence

“You were right about the train,” Zayn continues. “The one we came in on? Went back the way it came early this morning. Good thing we didn’t stay on.”

“Do you think they know about us? That we escaped that way?”

“Wouldn’t they just send people after us if they knew we were on it? I don’t think they do know where we are.”

Louis pushes himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over him. “Then they’re fucking stupid.”

“Yeah.” Zayn looks unconvinced. “Paul’s not stupid, though. They’ll work it out.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they think we just took off running.”

Zayn snorts. “They’d catch us in no time if we were running.”

Louis allows himself a moment of satisfaction, thinking about them searching through the woods. He’s resolutely _not_ going to feel sorry for anyone for when Simon finds out what’s happened.

“Hope Lou doesn’t get into shit,” Zayn says, as if he knows exactly what Louis is thinking.

“For what? She didn’t do anything.”

“He might think she helped us.”

“He won’t.” Louis wishes he sounded more convincing. “Why would he?”

Zayn gives him a look. They both know how ruthless Simon can be, and there’s no way he’s simply going to accept the loss of all four of his slaves. He’s going to be _livid_ and if they get caught now there won’t be any mercy for them because Simon will want to make an example of them. Louis knew that before, logically, but it hadn’t really sunk in then. Now the reality of it can’t be ignored: if they get caught then death would be a relief.

There’s a strange freedom in that thought, a lightness Louis hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Looked like they were getting those wagons on the other side ready earlier,” Zayn says, changing the subject. “Harry thinks it’s going south.”

“You think we should get that one?”

Zayn shrugs. “It’s either that or sit here … and there’s only two more biscuits.”

“Maybe we should have a look around here,” Louis prevaricates. “We don’t know what’s around.”

“What there is is fuck all,” Zayn says bluntly. “We got over the fence at the back and had a wander round. Don’t give me that look; we were careful.” He picks at the laces of his shoes, frowning. “There’s nothing. Not even farmland. It’s like a fucking wasteland.”

Louis frowns. “Nothing at all?”

“Harry reckons he could see something but Niall thinks it was a cloud. But that’s a good thing, yeah? That there’s nothing around.” Zayn sighs and rubs at the back of his neck. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept much. He probably hasn’t, Louis thinks guiltily. While Louis has been lying around festering in his own germs they’ve all been busy doing useful things. “There’s nothing that would help us, anyway. And no one to see us.”

“The guys who work here must come in from somewhere,” Louis argues.

“Yeah, they do. They drive in, in a van that looks like it’s falling apart. They park it in a lock-up by the front gate. There’s no way we could steal it without being seen.”

“Not that we can drive,” Louis points out.

“Harry can.”

_Of course he can_ , Louis thinks. Not that it does them much good.

“But we don’t have any petrol coupons, so…” Zayn trails off.

“So it’s pointless,” Louis finishes for him. “Yeah, ok. Train it is. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Zayn looks around at the dingy carriage and grins. “We will.”

The sound of footsteps on gravel outside and a dull thud on the wall of the carriage makes them both look round but it’s only Niall and Harry, both with dripping wet hair and matching grins that only get wider when they see Louis sitting up.

“You look like shit,” Niall tells him cheerfully.

“And you look like wet dogs,” Louis snaps back. “Did you swim in it or what?”

“ _I_ didn’t.” Niall doesn’t look remotely abashed.

“Which means Harry did.” Zayn rolls his eyes at Louis.

“I wanted to get clean,” Harry says defensively.

“There were chunks of _ice_ in it,” Niall supplies.

“Not _chunks_ …”

“Right,” Louis says, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m going for a wash. If Harry’s left any water.”

“You’re not going on your own,” Harry says at once. “You’re still ill.”

“I’m fine,” Louis says, very aware that it sounds less than convincing when he’s swaying from side to side. “I need a piss too.”

“I’ll go with him,” Zayn says, and there’s some sort of silent battle of glares and eyebrows going on between him and Harry that Louis hasn’t got the energy to intervene in before Harry finally says:

“Fine.”

Zayn ignores Harry’s sulky tone and turns to Louis. “All right?”

“Yeah.” Louis takes a tentative step, and then another, and is surprised to find that he can actually walk in a straight line. Climbing down from the carriage nearly leads to an undignified fall but Zayn is there to catch him with a tactful hand under the elbow before he ends up sprawled on the gravel.

“Shithole, isn’t it?” Zayn says as Louis straightens up.

Looking around, Louis isn’t inclined to disagree. He’d taken in some details of the yard when they’d first arrived but now his head is clear he can see how decrepit it is, smell how the air reeks of decay and ammonia.

“We’re not staying here,” he says firmly.

Zayn grins. “You sure?”

“Very.”

Zayn leads the way confidently, not too fast, stopping every now and then to let Louis catch up without any comment on how slowly Louis is moving, which Louis is profoundly grateful for. Despite Zayn’s assurances, Louis’ heart is pounding with nervous anticipation as they move towards one of the buildings, expecting any moment to hear a shout of alarm to signal that they’ve been seen.

“How many trains come in and out of here?” he asks.

“Not many.” Zayn stops to let Louis scramble over a low wall. “Maybe one every couple of hours, during the day. They don’t all stop. It’s weird, though.”

“Weird in what way?”

Zayn shrugs. “Not an expert in trains…”

“That’s two of us. What’s weird?”

“What’s this yard for?” Zayn gestures around, at the buildings with missing slates and broken windows, the rusting fences, the weed-ridden tracks. “They don’t unload anything. They don’t move anything around. They just bring trains in and leave them. Or take them out the same way they came in.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s fucking weird.” Zayn gives him an exasperated look. “It _is_ weird. Why would they do that? Who’d pay them to do that?”

Louis doesn’t have an answer for that. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about the world outside the house.

Washing himself in rainwater collected in a plastic water butt behind a building that’s half-falling down isn’t Louis’ idea of a good time but the need to get clean overrides any reluctance he might have had to stripping off his clothes and scrubbing himself with the cold water as quickly and thoroughly as he can, while Zayn positions himself as an impromptu windbreak. He doesn’t really have any way to get dry afterwards, so Louis just gets dressed again when he’s done, wishing he had a change of clothes.

“Watch us all die of pneumonia now,” he says through chattering teeth.

Zayn snorts. “It’s one way to go.”

“Not one I’m planning on.” Louis rubs his hands together, trying to get some circulation back into them. “Let’s get back, yeah? Who knows what those two can get up to when we’re not there.”

***

They leave just after dark, taking it in turns to climb into the safety of their chosen wagon minutes before the train lurches into motion. There’s little danger of them being spotted; there are no lights in that corner of the yard and once they’re settled inside the wagon, underneath the tarpaulin, they’re as good as invisible unless someone chooses to climb up and peer inside. Louis doesn’t think there’s much chance of that. He’s seen exactly one person since he woke up; one of the yard workers had ambled across to the train next to their carriage, walked around it, whistling tunelessly, and then ambled back to the building he’d come from

No one talks much. The motion of the train is jerky and nauseating at first but once the train has picked up speed it settles into a steady, rhythmic motion that’s oddly soothing. Niall soon falls asleep against Zayn and Harry slumps against Louis’ shoulder, snoring softly. Louis resigns himself to being used as a pillow and settles himself more comfortably against the side of the wagon.

“He was asking about you,” Zayn says suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Who?”

“Harry. He was asking about you.”

Louis turns his head but it’s too dark to see anything of Zayn’s expression. “What about me?” he asks sharply.

He feels rather than sees Zayn’s shrug. “How you ended up at the house.”

Something twists in Louis’ stomach at that. “What did you tell him?”

“Same for all of us, yeah? Simon bought us.”

Louis lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

Zayn is quiet for a moment and then says, “He asked about Caroline too.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Not much.” He hears Zayn sigh. “You should talk to him, yeah? He thinks too much.”

“About what?” Louis asks, but Zayn doesn’t reply. Louis can’t tell whether he’s asleep or not.

Time passes; how much Louis can’t be sure. It’s hard to judge how fast they’re moving and the high sides of the wagon prevent him from seeing anything of their surroundings. He supposes it would be easier if he slept too but he’s reluctant to fall asleep with the others so close. He scratches idly at his arm, frowning. He doesn’t think he did a good enough job bathing because he can still smell a trace of Caroline’s perfume.

He does sleep, in the end; a light, restless sleep that never really deepens into anything truly restoring. He’s aware of Zayn moving around at one point, and Harry briefly leaving his side to go for a piss, and later on he hears Niall and Zayn talking quietly, but it’s never enough to jerk him back to full awareness. He doesn’t dream, though, and that feels like a victory.

He’s brought out of sleep abruptly when Harry shakes him awake. “We’ve stopped,” he whispers, unnecessarily.

Louis yawns and stretches. His arm hurts less today but his stomach still aches. He has no idea what time it is but it’s pitch dark and he can barely see Harry’s face, inches from his own. “Where are we?”

“Tunnel,” Zayn says from somewhere close by. “I think we should get off here.”

Louis is instantly alert. “How come?”

He hears and feels Zayn moving; a hand brushes his shoulder. “We’ve been here a couple of minutes. There were some lights up ahead. I don’t think they know we’re here but something’s going on.”

“You’ve convinced me.” Louis gets to his feet, stumbling a little in the darkness. Someone takes hold of his arm.

“It’s me,” Harry says, close to his ear.

Louis is glad it’s too dark for Harry to see him flush. Maybe Harry didn’t feel him flinch.

One by one they climb up to the sill, lower themselves down the side of the wagon, and drop to the ground. The tunnel they’re in is narrow and there’s only just room for them to stand between the train and the wall of the tunnel, backs square against the uneven bricks.

“Hope there’s nothing sticking out,” Niall says, voicing the fear Louis suspects they’re all harbouring as the train wheezes and jolts into life again.

“Soon find out if there is,” Louis says brutally. The train’s moving at little more than a crawl but it’s slowly accelerating and it feels like all the air is being squeezed out of his lungs as he presses his shoulders against the wall behind him, trying to make himself smaller as the wagons pass by inches from his face.

It’s very quiet when the last one has passed and it’s just the four of them, standing in the tunnel, shivering with cold and adrenaline as the sound of the train slowly recedes into the distance.

Safe.

“Everyone ok?” Louis asks. He’s proud of how steady his voice sounds.

“Yeah,” Zayn says after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“What do we do now?” Niall asks.

“I thought we’d stay here,” Louis says sarcastically. “Enjoy the lingering aroma of cat piss.”

“We can follow the train,” Zayn says. “Or go back the way we came in?”

“There must be some way out of the tunnel,” Louis says, hoping he sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. “Emergency escape or maintenance tunnel or _something_.”

By mutual, unspoken consent they don’t follow the train, turning instead to head back the way they came. It’s not easy walking along the tunnel in the darkness, as they very quickly discover. Either side of the rails the sleepers and ballast gravel are slippery and treacherous under foot and they all manage to trip over several times before Louis decides they might as well walk down the middle of the track instead, where at least the sleepers are dry.

“What if another train comes?” Niall asks, and Louis doesn’t bother answering. Zayn, though, says simply:

“We jump out of the way and breathe in.”

Niall sounds a little out of breath, a little panicked, and when Louis realises he mentally scolds himself for not realising sooner.

“Hey,” he says, dropping back so he can give Niall a reassuring squeeze to the arm. “We can get out of here, yeah? Can’t you feel the breeze? We must be near the start of the tunnel.”

He can’t feel a breeze, and he’s pretty sure Niall can’t either but he feels the tense muscles under his fingers relax a little. He’s starting to be able to make out shapes in the darkness now; Louis can see some sort of light setup up ahead. It’s not much but it enables them to spot the recess set into the wall of the tunnel and the door Louis was hoping they’d find.

“What if it’s locked?” Harry says, the first thing he’s said for a while. He sounds oddly subdued but Louis doesn’t have time to deal with that right now.

“What if it isn’t?” he says, and turns the handle. The door creaks open, stiff from lack of use. Beyond there’s only darkness, but Louis thinks that the unknown is better than staying here, waiting to take their chances with the next train that comes along. “Come on,” he says, hoping he sounds confident than he feels. “Follow me.”

They do follow him, silent and apprehensive. As he turns back to the door Louis feels a sudden breeze in the tunnel, the onrush of air that signals that another train is approaching. He quickly moves to close the door behind them as quickly as he can, to conceal their hiding place even though he knows the chances of the driver noticing a door left ajar is low.

The door clicks softly into place, plunging them all back into darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual (!), apologies for the delay and thank you for reading :)

The 6.20 wakes him, as it usually does. It starts with a low, persistent rumble that could be distant thunder, a faint vibration in the walls around him. By the time he's opening his eyes and scrubbing at his stubble the rumble has grown to a roar of sound and the pipe that runs across the ceiling above his bed jerks and shudders from side to side as the walls shake.

Louis thinks it's probably a good thing that the pipe, like everything else, stopped working a long time ago. All it carries now is dust and the occasional spider.

He rolls out of bed and drops the metre or so to the floor, wincing a little as every muscle in his body protests. His makeshift mattress isn't particularly comfortable - nothing like as soft and welcoming as his old bed was - but since the alternative is sleeping on the floor he's determined to make the best of it. He’s holding out hope that he’ll get used to it, eventually.

Yawning, he reaches for the torch and flicks it on, bringing the room into sharper focus. There's always some light in his room, thanks to an oddly eerie glow coming down a vent in the corner. Louis has no idea where it comes from. He’s slowly getting used to living without light but the torch is still welcome as he picks his way across the room. They'd only been here two days when Niall had managed to slip and sprain his ankle going for a piss in the middle of the night and that experience has been enough to make them all wary of wandering around in the dark and careful to pick up anything they drop. Louis has never been so tidy in his life.

The toilet is an open drain of some sort, tucked away in what was probably once some sort of storage cupboard. Louis has no idea where it leads but a cold draught blows up it and Louis is shivering with cold by the time he goes to his makeshift bathroom, a basin balanced precariously on an old, rickety desk. The desk must have been some clerk's, once upon a time: when they were first looking around and making themselves at home Louis found a stapler and a pencil in the drawer, the pencil faded and brittle with age and chewed at the end. 

There's no proper running water but Louis has a pitcher of water ready and he's getting used to washing in cold water, shaving awkwardly with a sliver of hard soap and a disposable razor that must be years old, its plastic handle faded and worn. He dresses quickly when he's done and heads out into the corridor. He can hear the rumble of the approaching 6.45, early today. He pulls a face.

"Are they off timetable?" he asks when he gets to the main room. Once upon a time it must have been some sort of control room for the now-defunct underground station, and there are still signs of how its former life: a few battered, listing desks, a wall planner marked with indecipherable faded squiggles, an old-fashioned phone with half the handset broken off. Anything with any value has long since been stripped out and the whole place smells of damp and neglect.

Zayn is sitting on one of the desks, scribbling away on a piece of paper. “That one was five minutes early,” he says without looking round. “Only one, though.”

“Ok.” Louis looks around. “Anyone else up?”

Zayn shrugs. “Saw Harry a while ago. Don’t know where he is now.”

“Niall?”

“Haven’t heard him.”

Louis nods. He knows Niall doesn’t like coming down to this level of the station at all, preferring to spend his time on the level above, in what was once the ticket hall and the ticket office. Closer to the surface.

“All ready, then?”

Zayn sets the piece of paper and his pencil down and stands up. “Yeah.” He checks and adjusts the watch on his wrist. It’s their one precious commodity, almost more important than anything else except their stove and the plastic drum they use to collect the rainwater that percolates down from the world above. Louis thinks the watch must be older than he is; the face is cracked and chipped and the leather band is worn thin. But it works and, most importantly, it’s an old-fashioned wind-up type. As long as they remember to wind it up every day it won’t let them down.

“Let’s go.”

Once upon a time the station levels were served by two giant lifts running up and down a shaft in the middle of the station. Now the lift cars themselves are gone and the shaft is nothing more than a gaping void. By mutual consent none of them ever go anywhere near it; the doors have been removed on every level and it would be all too easy to slip and fall over the edge into the darkness. They rely instead on the steep, narrow spiral stairs that wind their way from the very lowest level of the station up to the surface. Harry says there are a hundred and fifty-three steps but it always feels like more to Louis. Going down isn't so bad - it's the coming back up.

Louis and Zayn make their way down the stairs to the next level, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The stairs bring them out onto the end of the platform and Louis has a moment, as he always does when he comes down here, when he half-expects the station to suddenly spring to life, for the platform to fill with people waiting for their train. Hurrying commuters, curious tourists, giggling schoolchildren, all noise and motion and life.

But, as usual, there's nothing but silence and stillness and dust and echoes of a past long since gone.

"We should get a ladder," he says as he crosses to the edge of the platform and carefully lets himself down onto what was once the track. The rails are long gone too; even the sleepers have been taken. 

"It's not that bad," Zayn says.

"All right for you," Louis grumbles. Zayn just grins.

They walk along the track bed, ballast crunching under their feet. Louis tries not to focus on the approaching rumble; reason tells him that there's no way the oncoming train is coming through this station but the primeval part of his brain is screaming that he's in danger, that he needs to get to the safety of the platform. It’s easy to start imagining things when the only light they have is a single torch between them and the darkness presses in on them from every side.

"That one's on time," Zayn says, breaking into his mounting panic.

"Good,” Louis says shortly.

They're level with the other end of the platform now, the mouth of the tunnel in front of them. Louis hates this part, even though he knows there are only a few metres to walk in the tunnel itself. He grits his teeth, tightens his grip on the torch, and keeps walking, counting out his breaths in his head. In. Out. In. Out.

The door to the side tunnel opens easily and he slips inside, Zayn close behind. Another few metres and they're standing in front of another door. There's no chance of talking now; the roar of the passing train blocks out everything. Louis knows it's a passenger train, this one, and he knows it won't stop. The passenger trains never stop in the tunnels, because there's nothing to stop for, not out here.

They're not waiting for a passenger train though.

The noise of the train fades and Louis glances back at Zayn. "How long?"

"Three minutes."

Louis nods. Three minutes feels like a lifetime but he feels the approach of the next train long before he hears it, the vibration under his feet and the rush of air through the gap under the door. He flicks off the torch and reaches for the door handle, breath quickening in anticipation. 

This train doesn't rush past the way the passenger train did. It slows and slows and finally screeches to a halt, and the instant it does Louis cracks open the door and peers through into the tunnel beyond.

Perfect.

"Let's go."

He doesn't bother waiting for Zayn's response; he knows Zayn will be right behind him. There's just enough light in the tunnel for him to be able to see where he’s going as they exit the side tunnel and swarm up the side of the wagon directly in front of them and they don't need light to do what they need to inside the wagon, not any more. In a well-practised move they peel the tarpaulin off the stacked boxes and start methodically stripping the top layer and dropping them over the side onto the track bed. When they're done, they pull the tarpaulin back into place and drop neatly back over the side of the wagon, just as the train lurches into motion once again. It takes them a few minutes to get all the boxes safely into the side tunnel, and then they take a moment to rest and get their breath back before they start looking over their prize.

"Could be food," Zayn says, poking at a box. "Them tinned peaches yesterday were good."

"We've still got another five tins," Louis points out. "I don't want to live off tinned peaches." At least, he thinks, they actually have a can opener now. The first few times they'd tried to open tins with, variously, a knife, a rusted piece of metal from the platform, and the edge of a step, had not gone well. 

"Apricots, then."

"Fuck off with your tinned fruit." Louis stands up and starts opening the first box. "Powdered milk."

Zayn brightens. "That's all right, yeah?"

"Yeah, see if there's any more."

They have four boxes of powdered milk and Louis feels ridiculously happy about that. He can't stand the stuff but powdered milk is good bartering currency and Louis is learning the rules of their new existence very quickly. In addition to the milk, they've also ended up with a box of tinned ham, a box of soap, a box of some sort of tinned pudding and, finally, a box of tinned peas.

"Good thing we don't have to live on this shit."

"The pudding looks all right."

Zayn pulls a face. "Let's get it back, yeah?"

It takes them a while to carry everything to the platform and Louis thinks they should probably look into getting some sort of cart or trolley, something they can use so they don't have to leave boxes unguarded on the platform and make so many trips. He needs to start planning for the long term.

When they get back to the station with the last two boxes, Harry is sitting on the edge of the platform, kicking his heels against the wall. He smiles when he sees them and Louis can't help smiling back, even though he knows Harry can’t really see him.

“Have you been sitting in the dark?”

“I don’t mind,” Harry says. “What did you get?”

"Four boxes of powdered milk," Louis tells him proudly.

Harry nods. "That's good."

"Niall ready?"

"Yeah."

Louis likes to think of it as a well-drilled operation. Between the four of them they can pass boxes up from the platform level to the control room much faster than one person could alone, and it's not long before everything is carefully stowed away in the one lockable room they have. Niall goes back upstairs to fetch water from the bucket, while Harry sets up the little stove they'd bartered two boxes of flour for. 

"We don't have much left," he says, frowning, shaking the bottle of methylated spirits for emphasis.

"We'll get some more," Louis tells him. "Don't worry about it."

They don't have many matches left either, which means a shopping trip. The fragility of their existence unsettles Louis; he knows how vulnerable they are. They've been lucky so far, in the week they’ve been here, but one wrong move and they're history. 

Harry lights the stove, looking unhappy. Niall comes back with the water and they sit around the stove while it heats. Filtered through three layers of cracked concrete, the water is swimming with dirt and who knows what else. Louis has already given everyone strict instructions not to drink it without boiling it first.

"Found anything?" Louis directs this at Harry. He knows Harry likes to go wandering around the station at all hours. He's not sure where Harry sleeps half the time, or if Harry sleeps at all. But, of all of them, he knows the station the best.

Harry shakes his head. "No. Except, except a scarf or something in one of the rooms upstairs."

"Everything's gone," Zayn says. "Someone cleared this place out."

_ Scavengers _ , Louis thinks. He wonders how long it took to strip the station of just about anything that could be bartered or sold. Even the tiles that once lined the platform walls have been chiselled off. His room is about the only one that has been left reasonably intact, and he suspects that that's only because it's out of the way and not obvious to anyone going through the station.

"Yeah, well, we'll go and do some shopping in a bit," he tells Harry. 

Harry nods. "Anything you want in particular?" he asks.

"Deodorant'd be good," Niall says, smirking.

"Good luck with that," Louis says waspishly. He's missing the luxury of a hot shower and shampoo and clean clothes too.

"We could make a shower," Harry interjects.

" _Make_ one? How?"

"Heat up some water, put it in the bucket, tip the bucket over you."

Louis rolls his eyes. "And waste meths heating up the water? No."

Harry pouts at him, but there's a little smile too and Louis doesn't mind pouting when the alternative is the dreadful blank stillness Harry goes into sometimes, when he thinks the others aren't watching. 

But Louis is always watching.

***

Louis tries very hard not to miss the house but it's difficult not to draw comparisons between the ample cooked breakfast he might have enjoyed a couple of weeks ago and the scraps of dried bread washed down with something that claims to be coffee but clearly _isn't_ that he now gets for breakfast. They don't have much of that left either but Louis doesn't think he'll miss it: it's just something to add flavour to hot water that smells of methylated spirits.

It's very quiet in the tunnel, just his breathing and his footsteps on the ballast, and Harry following on behind. The morning rush is over and he knows there won't be a train running through the tunnel that runs parallel to this one for an hour or so. 

"Do you think," Harry says suddenly, "Anyone knows the station is down here?"

"They must do." Louis thinks about that for a moment and adds, " _Someone_ must know."

"I never knew there were abandoned stations," Harry says reasonably. "I mean, I knew that some of them couldn't be used but, like, everyone always assumed they'd been destroyed or filled in or whatever, and not like this."

"Obviously they weren't."

"No," Harry agrees. "And they put in a new tunnel, didn't they."

"Without stations." Louis pulls a face, forgetting for a moment that Harry can't see it. "Wouldn't want to risk stopping at a station."

The tunnel branches up ahead. The left-hand tunnel drops into a slow descent and Louis has no idea where it goes. The one time he and Zayn had tried exploring it they turned back after a hundred yards or so, when the air began to smell of decay. They ignore it now and continue down the right-hand tunnel. 

“Maybe they thought it was for the best. You know, after.”

Louis wishes Zayn was here; Zayn has always taken more interest in the world outside than he has, even though in the house they were limited in how much contact they had with it. Zayn would be able to fill in the gaps in his own hazy memories, give some structure to those half-remembered news reports and conversations Louis hadn't been supposed to overhear. How old had he been when it had started: four, five? Harry must have been nothing more than a toddler and yet he knows more about the world than Louis does and it frustrates Louis that Harry has so much knowledge and Louis doesn't even know what questions he should be asking to unlock it. He doesn’t know how to live in this world. He's never had to do anything much for himself except follow the mantra that had been drilled into him: _keep clean, eat right, look pretty, obey_.

Louis swallows, suddenly nauseated. Maybe he'll talk to Harry later, he decides. Sit him down and have the conversation he should have had with him weeks ago. He doesn't want to have that conversation in a tunnel though, and especially since they're getting near their destination now and he hears the soft crunching of ballast that means that someone else is in the tunnel with them, maybe more than one person.

A single pinprick of light flashes for a moment, up ahead, before blinking out. Louis swings the torch from side to side in acknowledgement. The pinprick light flashes again in a complicated sequence Louis can't be bothered to follow.

"Fucking drama queens," he mutters under his breath. Behind him, Harry laughs softly.

"Who's there?" The voice is disembodied, distorted by the acoustics of the tunnel, but recognisable to Louis; they've met before. He relaxes a little. 

"Louis."

Ballast crunches again, a little closer this time. "You're not alone."

"Harry's with me." Louis crosses his fingers. They like Harry. _Everyone_ likes Harry.

A pause, and then, "Come on then."

Louis moves forward cautiously to the barrier of rubble that lies across the width of the tunnel. The only way over it is a narrow, precarious scramble, made more precarious when they only have the feeble light of the torch to guide them. It's not much of a barrier, in itself, but it does what it needs to, slows any incomers down and makes them vulnerable for just long enough. Louis thinks they should probably think about doing something similar around their own station.

"Just the two of you?"

"Just us," Louis confirms. "How's it going, Roy?"

A catarrh-filled sniff is the only response he gets to that but Louis wasn't expecting conversation anyway. Roy was the first person they met down here and he made it clear from the start that he doesn't trust any of them and likes them even less. Louis can understand that. 

"What've you got?"

"Powdered milk. Tinned peas. Treacle pudding."

Another sniff. "How much milk?"

"Two boxes," Louis lies. At least there isn't enough light for the other man to see his face clearly. "What've you got?"

There's a brief moment of silence, just long enough for Louis to start worrying, and then he hears Roy sigh. 

"Follow me. Mind your feet." 

Louis is about to ask why when he thinks better of it, and he soon sees what Roy meant; the uneven ground is scattered with what looks, at first sight, like scraps of rusted metal, until he notices the sharpened points and the deliberate placing.

"Caltrops," Harry says quietly. 

"What the fuck are caltrops?"

"They're like spikes," Harry explains. "So you walk on them and they stick in you?"

"Great," Louis says. "Booby-trapped tunnels. Fantastic." 

"That's not the best part," Roy says, up ahead. "Duck down for this bit."

The reason for this instruction becomes clear as they cautiously move forward: a wire rope has been stretched across the tunnel at what would have been head height, and it's coated in something that glitters in the torchlight.

"Don't touch it," Roy says sharply when Louis reaches up. "Broken glass."

"Expecting trouble?" Louis asks sarcastically, snatching his hand back. "What do you think we're going to do?"

Roy laughs. "We're not scared of _you_ ," he says derisively.

"Then what are you scared of?"

"The same thing you should be scared of." There's a light up ahead, a storm lantern resting on the edge of a platform. They're at the next station. 

"Nicely fucking cryptic," Louis grumbles when Roy shows no sign of saying anything else. Harry doesn't reply but he moves closer to Louis, like he doesn't want to let Louis get too far ahead. It's more comforting that Louis is prepared to admit.

They scramble up onto the platform and follow Roy to the archway that takes them through into the cavernous void that was once the bottom of the escalators. Nothing much remains of the escalators; the crumbling, rusting remains of the structure, anything too big to be easily stripped down and taken away, still remains, along with forlorn posters still colourfully advertising musicals and books. It’s a bigger station than theirs, and it feels it, but it’s not empty the way theirs is. Somewhere above them Louis can hear voices - male and female, children too - and the bustle of habitation. 

“This way,” Roy grunts, and leads them around the escalator framework. It’s a familiar path but Louis still has to tamp down a flare of apprehension at walking into what could so very easily be a trap. 

There’s a room behind the escalators - a storeroom of sorts, although Louis is fairly sure they don’t actually store anything down here. This is just a trading post, a way of dealing with outsiders without letting said outsiders into the sanctuary of the station itself. Every wall is lined with boxes, some sealed, some open. A table is set up in the middle of the room, furnished with another storm lantern and a set of weighing scales. 

“Got anything good?” Louis asks.

Roy sniffs. “Depends what you mean by good.”

“Fresh stuff.”

“Good joke.” Roy goes over to the far wall and lifts down a box. They’re all unmarked but Louis assumes the other man has the contents memorised. “How about potatoes? New potatoes, very nice.”

Louis makes a show of examining the tin that’s handed to him before passing it to Harry for him to go through the same performance. “What else?”

It’s twenty minutes or more before they’re done and Louis isn’t entirely satisfied with their haul by the time they finally shake hands on it, but he’s getting jumpy about hanging around and the way Roy watches them when he thinks he’s unobserved makes him nervous. Louis knows they don’t fit in down here; they don’t have the hacking cough that the others all seem to have - a product, he suspects, of the damp air and ever-present dust - and the drawn faces and luminously pale skin of those who have spent months and years below ground, eating whatever they can scavenge and never seeing the sun. Their clothes are still too clean, their hands too unworn. They’re outsiders, and there’s no hiding it.

Roy and another man Louis’ met before - Jake - carry their boxes down to the track, while Louis and Harry go back to where they’ve left their pilfered goods. It’s hard work carrying them back again, and then carrying their barter away, but Louis daren’t leave their goods any closer to the other station. He knows Harry thinks he’s being paranoid but Louis can’t bring himself to trust the other men as easily as Harry seems to do. 

They don’t speak on the journey back. Louis thinks he hears a scrape of gravel behind them, once, and he stops for a moment, listening intently, heart pounding. But he doesn’t hear another sound.

***

Without daylight it’s hard to keep track of time and their sleep patterns are all messed up however much they try to keep some sort of routine going. Which is perhaps why Louis finds himself heading out at three in morning, tiptoeing past Zayn snoring away on the floor of the main room and waiting to click on the torch until he gets to the stairs. He’s still shivering a little, still nauseated from the dream that had woken him. 

He’d intended to go down to the platform, maybe pace from one end of the platform to the other until he tired himself out and he could head back to bed, but instead he goes up, to the ticket hall first, where Niall is curled up in a tight ball in the corner, fast asleep, and then up the short flight of steps to another, narrower hall. He’s only been up here once before, when they first arrived and started exploring the station, and it looks the same at first sight: the roof has partially collapsed at the far end, blocking what must have once been the exit, and the tiled floor is pitted and rutted.

But then he takes a second, better look, and he sees that someone has been at work here. The pile of rubble has been disturbed and, where once the entranceway was completely blocked, there’s now a small hole, barely large enough to allow a person through. Louis advances slowly, clicking off the torch, unsure of what he’s going to find. He wishes now he’d stopped to put shoes on, because the broken floor makes it hard going. His thin shirt is inadequate protection against the cool breeze too, and Louis hesitates for a moment, thinking of the relative warmth of his room, but then he hears a soft click on the other side of the rubble and that makes his mind up for him. He clambers determinedly over the fallen masonry and scrabbles through the hole, tensed to meet whatever threat is waiting for him on the other side.

“Louis?”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Louis says, snapping a little to cover his relief. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Harry moves up on the stone bench he’s perched on so Louis can sit down next to him. There’s something reassuring about the warmth of him, the familiar scent of him. 

“It’s not safe out here,” he says.

Harry huffs a laugh. “It’s ok.”

Louis squints at him, trying to make out his expression. “How often do you come up here?” 

“Most nights,” Harry admits. “I like the fresh air.”

“It’s not that fresh.” That’s not exactly true: the air smells clean, untainted by the stench of decay Louis had half-expected.

“Better than down there,” Harry says.

Louis bumps him with his elbow. “Can’t be that bad; you’re the one who’s always wandering about in the tunnels. Can’t you sleep?”

“Not really.” Harry goes very still, and Louis senses he’s hit a nerve. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Louis says shortly. He means to stop there but Harry has a way of pitching him off balance, making him say things he wouldn’t otherwise. “Had a bad dream.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He hesitates for a second, then, “About her?”

“Yes.”

He feels rather than sees Harry nod. 

“Not about … I’m sure she’s alive,” Louis adds quickly. “I wasn’t thinking about- about what happened. I don’t think she’s dead.”

“I know,” Harry says quietly. 

“Just, other things.”

“Things she did to you. Before.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” Louis says, hating himself for how small his voice sounds.

Harry nods again. “When you were ill,” he says unexpectedly. “I thought you were going to die and I was angry.”

“Angry?” Louis wishes he could see Harry, rather than have to guess at his expression. “At me?”

“Not at you.” Harry’s fingers brush against Louis’ arm, a light, flickering touch that sends shivers up Louis’ spine. “At everything. That we, that we got out of there, and then you were going to die for _nothing_.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought I was going to die too.” Louis grimaces at the memory of how ill he’d been after their escape. “But we survived, yeah? We all got out.”

“Liam didn’t,” Harry points out.

Louis grimaces again. “Yeah. I know. But we’ll… we’ll do something. We’ll find him.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know.” Louis runs a hand through his hair. “But we escaped, yeah? We did it. We can get him out too.”

“Yeah.” Harry shifts, leaning into Louis with a soft sigh. It feels easy, natural to slip an arm around his waist, tug him in closer, and Harry doesn’t pull away. Instead he brings a hand up and touches his finger against Louis’ throat, brushing over the pulse, tracing the line of where the collar once rested.

Louis swallows thickly. He has to stop himself flinching from Harry’s touch and Harry seems to sense his unease because his hand falls away.

They sit in silence for a while, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. For all that they’re sitting in what was once part of a huge city there are no signs of human occupation but as the sky lightens Louis starts to see and hear movement and sounds. Birdsong in the derelict buildings; a fox hurrying down the road, glancing at them warily before passing on. Nature is reclaiming the wasteland for itself, and the evidence of that is all around him, in the dense weeds pushing through what remains of the tarmac, the moss that carpets the steps of the station, the vegetation wrapped in and around the remains of a bus shelter in front of the station.

“Maybe we should move up here,” Harry says sleepily.

“We’re safer down there.” Louis isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to convince. “And if we come up here how are we going to nick stuff off the trains? Carry stuff up all them stairs? We’re better off down there.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything and, turning his head, Louis realises that Harry’s asleep.

***

They don’t discuss it but somehow, without it ever being an issue, they fall into a routine of sharing a bed over the days that follow. Louis has no idea whether the others know or not; Harry still wanders the corridors and tunnels in the evenings and it is only later, after the others are long asleep, that he quietly slips into Louis’ bed, pressing close against him to share the warmth of the thin blanket. He’s usually gone again when Louis wakes in the morning.

They don’t talk about it and Harry doesn’t demand anything from him, although Louis sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night with Harry hard against him. When that happens Louis carefully slides out of bed without waking him and goes to sit in the main room for a while, listening to Zayn’s quiet breathing and the steady drip-drip of water down the ventilation shaft behind the wall. 

Harry talks in his sleep, too, but Louis can’t make much sense out of his rambling. Sometimes Harry sounds scared, a plaintive pleading tone to his voice that Louis can’t bear to listen to. Unwilling to wake Harry in the middle of a nightmare, he finds it easier to leave the room, far enough away that he can’t hear Harry at all. It doesn’t make for restful sleep and Louis finds himself dropping off at random points during the day but Harry is sleeping better and the dark circles under his eyes are fading so Louis thinks he doesn’t mind so much.

They all have other things to do anyway. After Louis tells Zayn about the caltrops and the barriers the others have put in place, Zayn goes away to think about it for a while and comes back with his own plan. They don’t have as much rubble and debris to block the tunnel as the other station has, but by using old tins and gravel from the tracks and string and nails they barter half a box of tinned pears for, they rig up a rudimentary warning system in the darkness of the tunnels. Niall and Harry set up a similar system in the ticket hall. It’s not perfect, not by any means, but their defences make them all feel a little safer, even if they’re not sure if there’s even anything to be afraid of. 

“Human nature to be afraid of the dark,” Zayn remarks one day, when he and Louis are making their way down the platform by the feeble torchlight. “You can’t see, you start imagining things.”

_ Sometimes it’s better not to see the monsters _ , Louis thinks, but he keeps it to himself. “That why Niall won’t come down here?” he says instead. “Over-active imagination?”

Zayn hesitates, then, “Says it’s like being buried alive. Suffocating. I can understand that.”

“Yeah.” Louis jumps down onto the trackbed. “Me too.”

They don’t ever talk about what happened to Niall when he first came to the house; Louis isn’t even sure if Harry knows. Niall has never breathed a word of it to any of them and Louis only knows because Zayn got the story first-hand from the gloating bastard who’d held Niall down, forcing his head under water over and over again while the others watched and laughed at Niall’s frantic struggles. 

They walk in silence to the cross-tunnel. The train is late this morning, and they’re waiting at the door for a while before they feel the first vibrations in the floor that signal the train’s approach.

"Must be getting lazy," Louis says.

"Not like them to be this late," Zayn says uneasily.

"Relax. Trains are late sometimes. I think," Louis modifies, because he doesn’t _know_. "Maybe the train had a problem, maybe they just couldn't be arsed to get up on time, who knows."

"Still-" Zayn begins, but whatever he's going to say is cut off abruptly as they both hear an unmistakable, very human shout from the tunnel in front of them, audible even over the roar of the approaching train. 

"Shit," Louis says. He grabs for Zayn's arm, raising his voice to be heard. "We'll wait for the next one, yeah?"

"Yeah," Zayn agrees. 

The train is slowing down and there's no more shouting but somehow that's more unnerving than noise would have been. Louis finds himself holding his breath; he's glad it's too dark for Zayn to be able to see how nervous he is. Finally the train comes to a halt in a screech of metal and hiss of air and then it's silent.

The seconds tick by. Louis is straining to hear anything on the other side of the flimsy wooden barrier separating them from whoever is on the other side. Every instinct is telling him to run, to get away, but he tells himself he's being ridiculous. For all he knows, it's a passenger train. Maybe the timetable has been changed. 

And then he hears it: very faint, but not because of distance. Whoever has just crunched ballast beneath their foot is trying to be stealthy and in that moment Louis knows they're in trouble. He pulls at Zayn's sleeve, signalling to him to move and, to his relief, Zayn understands immediately. They back away from the door, away from the danger. Five careful steps and they're at the door to what Louis thinks of as their tunnel. Safety.

He never knows what it is - some scrap from a pilfered box, maybe, or some ballast they've brought in on the soles of their shoes at some time in the past. Whatever it is, it catches up on the side of Louis' shoe just as he reaches the door and goes skittering away across the floor, as loud as thunder in that thick, leaden silence.

They run then, all attempts at stealth forgotten, because behind them all hell is breaking loose. They scramble through the door and slam it behind them and Louis starts to run down the track only to be brought up short by Zayn grabbing his arm.

“Not that way! They’ll only follow us to the station!”

Zayn’s right; of course he’s right. Louis curses himself for panicking rather than thinking clearly. The last thing he wants is to lead their pursuers straight to their station, and to Harry and Niall, who will have no warning of what’s coming and only their wholly inadequate defences for protection.

They run the other way instead, stumbling and skidding on the ballast. Louis knows the feeble light of the torch makes them a target but he doesn’t dare turn it off: without light the tunnel would be a deathtrap to two runners. His only hope is that they can make it around the curve in the track before their pursuers make it into the main tunnel, and that hope is dashed almost immediately when he hears the crash of the door being thrown open and a barked order. More than one of them, then. 

Louis tries desperately to think of a plan. They could keep running to the next station, but the defences there will slow them down and he’s not sure he remembers, exactly, where the caltrops are. And even if, by some miracle, they make it to the station, there’s no guarantee that they’ll be safe. Their other choice is to take the left-hand branch in the tunnel, descend deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels. It’s not an appealing prospect, but then neither is waiting for the men behind them to catch them up. 

Up ahead lies the branch. Decision time.

“This way,” he gasps out, grabbing for Zayn’s hand. Taking a deep breath, he hurls the torch down the right-hand tunnel, praying that it won’t break on impact with the ground, and pulls Zayn with him into the mouth of the left-hand tunnel, instinctively throwing out his free hand to orientate himself against the tunnel wall. He half-falls and scrapes his shin on the ballast but Zayn pulls him along and they end up crouched against the tunnel wall, pressing themselves against the rock, as their pursuers thunder down the other branch. In the scattered light of their torches reflected off the tunnel walls Louis gets a glimpse of Zayn’s face, a mirror of his own terror.

“Come on,” he whispers. “We have to move.”

They crawl; there’s no other way they can do it. Without the torch to light their way they can’t see anything and neither of them want to break their necks trying to run, so they crawl on hands and knees along the track, the ballast scraping their skin raw. Louis barely feels the pain. He has no idea how far they’ve gone by the time Zayn finally calls a halt but it feels like they’ve been going forever.

“Break, yeah?” Zayn says. Louis nods, forgetting for a moment that Zayn can’t see him.

“Yeah,” he says when he remembers. Then, “Shit.”

Zayn laughs a soft, half-hiccoughing laugh. “What the fuck happened?”

“They were waiting for us.” Louis can taste the bitterness in his mouth. “I don’t know; maybe they were just after thieves. They can’t know it was _us_ , right? We can’t matter that much.”

“They had guns,” Zayn says after a moment’s hesitation.

“I know.” Louis had only caught the briefest of glances of their pursuers but he’d seen the uniforms and the weapons, enough to know that they have no chance whatsoever if they get caught. “Fuck.”

“They’re not going to stop looking for us.”

“They might do.” Louis runs a hand through his hair. “If they were after whoever’s been stealing from the trains … and they can’t find us. They’ll want to get back on the train, right? They won’t leave the train stopped in the tunnel. And no one wants to walk back.”

He doesn’t even know how far it is to the next proper station, the next station that isn’t used for more than homing scavengers. But he thinks he sounds convincing.

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “What now, then?”

“We wait a bit. Then we’ll go back up, slowly. See if they’ve gone. They will have gone.”

And if they haven’t … then Louis doesn’t know what they’re going to do.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off-screen minor character death in this chapter and a scene I would class as dubcon although neither character appreciates that it's dubcon. Please see the end notes if you don't mind spoilers for more explanation.

Louis and Zayn have no way of gauging the passing of time as they huddle together in the darkness, the chill damp slowly seeping into their clothes and settling in their bones as the adrenaline of the chase begins to fade. The lack of any visual reference is disorientating and unsettling, and Louis wishes desperately that they'd thought to carry the second torch as a backup. Too late now.

"How long do we wait?" Zayn says in a hushed tone.

"Until we hear them come back," Louis replies.

"If they don't find us that way, they're going to come back," Zayn points out. "They're going to search this tunnel too."

"Or they could just get back on the train," Louis counters. "Why should they care about us? We don’t even know who they are!"

"Maybe they care about whoever's been stealing from the trains. They were waiting for us."

Louis has to admit that Zayn has a point. They’d been stupid, in retrospect; so stupid to think that their thefts would go unnoticed. The same train too, day after day. They'd made it easy for them. "All right," he says. "Come on."

"We're going further down,” Zayn says flatly.

"I don't think we have a choice." Louis levers himself onto hands and knees and winces. "We can't go back yet; if they double back and catch up with us, there's nowhere for us to go."

If he’s honest with himself, Louis doesn't want to keep going at all. The air is stale and tainted with a faint sickly-sweet smell Louis doesn't want to think about too closely. It feels like a tomb and Louis has no desire to walk willingly towards his death, but going on is the least worst alternative. Without a torch to light their way, they have to hope that the tunnel floor is relatively undamaged: a sprained ankle or, worse, a broken leg, and they're in serious trouble.

They set off at a slower pace than before but it's still hard going and, while Louis senses that the track is descending, he has no idea just how far the tunnel goes down or how damaged the lower levels are. Without light they can’t even look for any side tunnels to hide in. The only good thing is that the further they run away from their station, the further they’re drawing their pursuers away from Harry and Niall, and Louis comforts himself with that thought.

Louis freezes abruptly when Zayn's hand closes around his ankle and tugs, sharp and insistent. He opens his mouth to ask why Zayn has called a halt but then he hears it: voices behind them, loud and insistent. Their pursuers have doubled back on themselves and are now coming after them.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Come on.”

There's no time for caution now; they frantically press on, crawling as fast as they can, deeper and deeper into the earth. The ballast tears at their skin, rips their clothes. Adrenaline dulls the pain but Louis knows they can’t go on like this forever. Already his muscles are screaming in protest and the breath is wheezing in his lungs but over the pounding of his heart he can still hear the pursuit behind them.

Louis digs in his heels, braces himself against the impact of Zayn’s body against his own.

“Wha-”

“We fight,” Louis wheezes. “Not going down without a fight.” His fingers scrabble for some kind of weapon, any kind of weapon, but there’s only ballast. He grabs a few pieces anyway, weighing them in his hand.

“You’re fucking insane,” Zayn says, but Louis senses him moving, crouching at Louis’ side, facing back the way they came. Facing the threat.

Their pursuers aren’t far behind now: Louis can see the glow of their torches reflected off the rough-hewn tunnel walls and hear their footsteps. They can’t be more than fifty metres or so away – and he and Zayn have a minute or two at best before they’re discovered.

“Be ready,” he hisses to Zayn.

“What’s that saying about it being a good day to die?”

Louis can’t help grinning. The terror of their initial flight is, oddly, gone, and all he feels is a strange calmness, a cool acceptance of his fate. “I always thought that was a load of shit.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m gonna die, might as well be with you.”

Louis elbows him. “Didn’t know you cared,” he says, not bothering to lower his voice. The sound of pounding footsteps echoes off the tunnel walls, a staccato counterpoint to the frantic beat of his heart. Torchlight flashes off the walls of the tunnel, closer and closer to their resting place.

Zayn elbows him back, not particularly gently. “Fuck off.”

Louis laughs, but the sound chokes off in his throat as, too close for comfort, a barked order is snapped out and the footsteps of their pursuers slow and stop.

“That’s far enough, men,” the same voice says. “Let’s head back.”

“There’s a cross tunnel just down there, sir,” another voice says, close enough that Louis imagines he could reach out and touch the speaker. The man is kicking at the ballast; a piece skitters between Louis and Zayn. Someone sweeps their torch from side to side, searching them out like a sniffer dog, and Louis watches with calm resignation as its pool of light comes closer and closer to the shadows that shelter them.

The unforgiving light illuminates the toe of Zayn's shoe, stark and alien against the tunnel floor, and the breath punches out of Louis.

“I don’t think we want to go any further,” the first speaker says firmly. The light flickers away. “The stench is bad enough here. We head back.”

“Yes, sir,” the second speaker says smartly. “Platoon form up! Move it!”

Their footsteps quickly recede into the distance.

"Fuck," Zayn says shakily. "That was close. What now?"

"Give them a couple of minutes," Louis says. He’s shaking, and he clenches his hands into fists, trying to still the trembling. "Might be a trick."

Zayn is quiet for a second and then he says, "You don't want to keep going?"

"Fuck no," Louis says vehemently. "Do you?"

"No." Zayn shifts next to him and Louis feels how much he's shaking too. "Just wondered. Smells like death down here."

Louis pulls a face, knowing that Zayn can't see him. Somehow, putting it into words makes it more real, harder to ignore. "Yeah."

"And it's not old, is it? I mean, not like years. It wouldn’t reek like that if it was old."

"Maybe it's a dead animal," Louis says tightly. He doesn't think he sounds convincing. He's not even convincing himself.

"Maybe," is all Zayn says.

Louis clenches his fists tighter. He hopes it's his imagination that the stench of putrefaction is getting stronger.

"Come on," he says. "We're going back."

Zayn doesn't even question it; he falls in behind Louis and they start to crawl back the way they came. There's nothing easier about going back - they still can't see where they're going - but at least they can take it at a slower pace, without blind panic driving them on. Louis makes sure to keep close to the tunnel wall so he knows when they're reached the fork. The slope of the tunnel is steeper than it seemed going down and they're both out of breath by the time they finally reach the main tunnel and their route home.

There's no question of going to look for their torch. The other fork is dark and silent and neither of them have any desire to go crawling around down there, looking for something that is probably smashed beyond repair. They keep going instead, heading for home, crawling faster now that the ground is level and the air once again clear, if a little stale. Louis hears the rumble of an approaching train in the parallel tunnel and that's reassuring in itself - the line is open again and the train with their pursuers is gone.

"Don't remember it being this far," Zayn mutters from behind him, and Louis grins, despite everything.

"Getting old," he jibes.

"Fuck off; you're the old man," Zayn snaps back.

Louis wants to cry when he finally sees the pinprick of light up ahead, the rush of relief it gives him spurring him on despite his exhaustion. As they get closer and the light strong enough to illuminate the track bed he staggers to his feet and begins to run, an awkward, stumbling run that makes his legs ache and his lungs burn, but it doesn't matter because they've made it, they're safe, and the whirlwind of motion that is Harry jumps down from the platform edge and runs to him, throwing his arms around Louis and nearly lifting him off his feet as he hugs him close. Louis hugs back just as tight, holding on and just breathing in Harry's scent, pressing against the warm, alive solidity of him.

"Thought you were gone," Harry mumbles into Louis' hair. His voice sounds choked, like he's been crying.

"Didn't know what happened to you," Niall says from somewhere close by. "We heard shouting so we-"

"We should have come after you," Harry says.

"No," Zayn cuts in before Louis can say it. "No way. You did the right thing, staying here."

"What happened?" Niall asks.

"Not here," Louis manages. "Let's get out of here, yeah? There's a couple of tins of that soup left; we'll have that and then, then we'll talk." He pushes gently at Harry, easing him out of his death grip. Harry stays close to him though, a hand constantly on Louis' arm or against his side, as if to reassure himself that Louis is ok. It makes it awkward to get up the stairs from the platform but Louis is secretly glad of the contact: it's reassurance for them both.

"You look like shit," Niall says when they get up to the main room. He gestures pointedly at his face. "You been rolling on the ground?"

"Something like that," Louis says wryly.

He lights a couple of candles, so Niall can click off their second torch and save the batteries, and goes to wash, not expecting anyone to follow. But Harry does, and the moment they’re alone he pulls Louis into another hug, clinging on to him as if he never wants to let Louis go.

“Hey,” Louis says, patting his back. “It’s ok. I’m ok.”

“You’re not. You’re hurt.”

“Scratches,” Louis tells him. “That’s it. Just scratches. Nothing serious.”

He lets Harry look him over anyway. Harry is methodical and meticulous when it comes to cleaning up Louis’ injuries, twice going to fetch fresher water so he can clean each and every one of Louis’ grazes thoroughly. Louis is torn between wanting to tell him to stop and never wanting Harry to stop touching him with so much care.

“I think that’s enough,” he tries, once, but Harry just shakes his head.

“You don’t want them to get infected.”

“Harry, I’m not going to die from a scraped knee.” Louis looks down at where Harry is gently cleaning a jagged cut in the side of his foot Louis doesn’t even remember getting and winces. Perhaps Harry has a point. It’s not like they’re going to get any kind of medical attention down here.

“Anything else?” Harry asks, glancing up.

Louis holds out his hands. The palms are rubbed raw and there are tiny cuts all over his fingers. Harry wordlessly starts to wash his hands too.

“They knew we’d been robbing stuff,” Louis tells him. “They were waiting for us. Soldiers. We only just got away.”

Harry bites his lip, frowning. Louis reflexively reaches down, smiling as Harry turns his head into Louis’ touch.

“Another minute and they’d have had us … shit, Harry, I don’t think we can do that again. We have to find another way of getting food.”

“Up above, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Louis doesn’t like the idea much. There’s a sense of safety down here, even if that sense is mostly illusory. He doesn’t know what they’ll find if they start looking around on the surface. “Don’t think we have a choice.”

***

“That’s a _really_ bad idea,” Zayn says when Louis tells him the plan. “But yeah, we don’t have a choice.”

“Why is it a bad idea?” Louis says defensively.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Where do you want to start? We have no idea where to even start looking for food up there. Anyone we meet is either going to be running away or trying to kill us-”

“Why would they try and kill us?” Niall asks.

They’re sat in a circle, mugs of warmed-through soup in hand. It’s familiar and comforting but there’s a feeling of unease in the air.

“Do you remember what happened to London, Niall?” Zayn says exasperatedly.

“I remember about as much as you do,” Niall counters.

Harry is silent, looking between them and then to Louis. The trust he has in Louis to look out for them, to make the right decision, to keep them safe, is right there in the way he looks at Louis.

“It’s not like we’re staying up there for long,” Louis say. "We just go up when we need to, go looking-"

"What if there's nothing up there?"

Louis sighs. "Then we'll... I don't know. We'll find something. We'll be ok."

There's a moment of silence and then Zayn says:

"We should ration out the food we have left, just in case."

"Good idea." Louis looks at Niall. "Can you make sure we have plenty of water stored up?"

"We need some more containers."

"We'll find something," Louis promises. "We can still barter, yeah? We don't have to find food up there as long as we can find something we can barter with."

Zayn nods his head. "What do you think?" he asks Harry.

Harry glances at Louis before he answers. "I think we should look around up there," he says. "As long as we're careful, we should be fine."

"No one goes up there alone," Louis says. He winks at Harry when he's sure the others aren't looking. "And we'll keep our eyes open, make sure we know what we're dealing with up there."

"Are there people still living there?" Niall asks. "We're all assuming there are..."

Louis doesn't know - and it annoys him that he doesn't know but they were never allowed access to that kind of information all the time he was in the house - but Harry answers for him.

"Yeah, there are some. I mean, we were never told much about them. There aren't many, I don't think. Not any more."

"You ever see one?" Zayn asks.

Harry shakes his head. “No. We never- We never came into London.”

"Not even on the news?"

"No." Harry thinks about it for a moment and then adds, "I never saw anything. We weren't- we weren't supposed to really think about it, I think. About them. Like, it was better to forget what happened."

Zayn leans forward, eyes sparking with curiosity. "And you never asked?"

Harry shrugs. "Most people don't ask questions. My parents did, and look what happened." He looks away, rubbing at his neck, and Louis can't help reaching out to touch his arm. Harry relaxes a little into the touch but he won’t look at any of them.

"Right then," Niall says, a little too brightly. "Are we going for a look round then?"

"Now?"

"It's still daylight," Zayn says, getting to his feet and stretching. "We can have a look round now, get a feel for where things are. Maybe even pick up some stuff today, then we can barter tomorrow."

Louis reluctantly relinquishes his hold on Harry. The events of the morning still have him shaken up and, despite Harry's care, his body is reminding him of what he put it through, but he knows Zayn is right. They have to establish a way of getting food now the trains are off-limits to them, whether that's from foraging for whatever food they can find in the ruins above them or scavenging for anything worth bartering for food.

"Fine," he says. "You and me'll go," he tells Zayn. "You two have a good look round the station, see if there's anything we've missed. But not on the platform."

Niall and Harry nod their agreement, although neither of them look particularly happy about it. Louis isn't thrilled about the four of them splitting up either, but the alternative is all four of them on the surface and he doesn't want that.

“Be careful,” Harry says softly when Louis walks past him.

“Course I will,” Louis says, forcing a smile. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, right? Look after Niall for me.”

Harry smiles a smile that looks every bit as contrived as Louis’ own. “We can look after each other.”

"You worried about them falling off the platform?" Zayn asks Louis as they make their way up to the ticket hall. They’re out of earshot of the others by then but Zayn still keeps his voice low, just in case.

Louis grins. "They're not that clumsy."

"What, then?"

"I don't want them going exploring." Louis doesn't add that he doesn't want any of them to do any more exploring in the tunnels today - he keeps imagining he can still smell the stench of death and decay even now and the thought of even making their way along to the next station to barter is less than appealing. Not to mention they’ve lost their best torch and the remaining one isn’t a good replacement for navigating the obstacles down in the tunnels.

Zayn is quiet for a while, until they reach the gap in the masonry that gives them access to the surface, and then he says:

"Do you think Harry was telling the truth about not knowing anything?"

That brings Louis up short. "What? Why would he not tell the truth about it?"

Zayn doesn't answer right away, and there's something about his expression, the way he won't make eye contact with Zayn, that has Louis on edge.

"What the fuck, Zayn,” he says tightly. “What's going on?"

"I'm not saying he's lying,” Zayn says.

Louis realises his hands are clenched into fists. He forces himself to relax. "What _are_ you saying then? You don't trust him?"

"I don't know him," Zayn points out. "Neither do you, not really."

"Oh, I _know_ him pretty well," Louis snaps.

"I'm just saying, the rest of us, we've known each other a long time,” Zayn says equably, refusing to rise to Louis’ bait. “Harry not as long. He might have his own reasons for not telling us things. He never talks about his family. Never talks about his life, before. Do you know what happened to his parents?"

"He's not the only one who doesn’t talk." Louis takes a deep breath, and then another. “Are you crazy? He’s not some sort of spy or anything. He’s just Harry. He’s one of us. And we can trust him.”

“It’s because of him we had to get out before we were ready,” Zayn persists. “Everything bad that happened to us, it happened after he came. And he’s always off somewhere, in the night. We don’t know where he goes.”

Louis knows without needing to ask that this isn’t the first time Zayn’s recounted his doubts about Harry to someone. The thought of Zayn and Niall talking about this together makes Louis feel sick, along with the knowledge that Zayn knew he’d react badly and didn’t come to Louis first for just that reason. They’ve never kept secrets from each other before, not like this.

“He _goes_ to my bed,” he says ruthlessly. “So yeah, now you know, not that it’s anything to do with you.”

Zayn blinks, and takes a step back, but Louis isn’t done.

“And everything bad happened after he came? That’s bullshit, and you know it is. Harry had nothing to do with ninety percent of the shit that’s ever happened to us. He’s the only-” Louis stops abruptly, biting off his words mid-sentence.

“What?” Zayn asks, very softly.

Louis looks away, fixes his eyes on the series of small holes in the floor where some kind of barrier probably once stood. The floor tiles around them are cracked and stained with something that could be blood. Louis hopes it isn’t blood.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Zayn says eventually, when the silence between them starts to become awkward. “It’s just, y’know. With Liam and everything.”

“Yeah, I know.” Louis instinctively reaches out to touch Zayn’s arm but Zayn takes another step back before he can make contact. Louis doesn’t push it. Zayn gets like this sometimes; not wanting to be touched, not even by Louis, who he knows can’t hurt him. “Come on,” he says instead. “Let’s get this over with. Don’t want to be stuck up there after dark.”

They retrace the path Louis took previously, emerging into the muted daylight feeling very like two creatures woken from hibernation. The sky is grey and clouded over and a soft drizzle is falling but the outside world still, to Louis’ eyes, looks beautiful, full of colour and life. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh air, while Zayn looks around wonderingly.

“It’s a right mess,” he remarks, gesturing at the ruined buildings on the other side of what remains of the road. “It’s been looted already, bet you.”

They start with the building directly opposite the station. It must have been an office block once, with a couple of shops on the ground floor. Their signs are smashed beyond recognition and the interiors stripped bare but Louis spots a few posters on the wall of one that suggest it was once a toy shop. Standing in the shell of it, where even the floorboards have been ripped up and the electrical wiring pulled out of the walls, Louis feels an odd sense of sadness, a sense of loss for something he never really had.

“Want to go upstairs?” Zayn asks.

The lift isn’t an option and the stairs aren’t much better: the concrete is cracked so badly that more than once they have to hop over a yawning void in the staircase. Louis tries not to think about the chances of the whole lot disintegrating under their weight.

The first floor is - or was - offices, as far as they can tell, but every room has been stripped bare, even the toilets. Carpets have been ripped from the floor, panelling taken from the walls. In the corner of one room they find a couple of old bones that neither of them, by silent mutual consent, go too near.

The second and third floors are more of the same, and any plans they might have had to keep going are revised the moment they get a good look at the ascending stairs. Whole sections are missing completely and what remains looks decidedly incapable of supporting the weight of one of them, let alone both of them. They look at each other.

“We could try another one,” Zayn offers.

“Yeah. Come on.”

They try three more buildings and every one tells the same story. Every room, every floor, has long since been stripped bare, the shell of the building left to rot and decay. Damp plaster crumbles under Louis’ hand when he rests against a wall in one building, and sections of panelling peel away as they walk down a corridor in another.

“Fuck,” Louis says when they’re standing on the street again. It’s still raining, and it’s getting dark. There’s no point in trying to do any more exploring today and their lack of success nags at him. His foot hurts and his muscles ache and he’s tired, suddenly. “This is not good enough.”

“We need to look further away,” Zayn says. “Away from the main road, maybe. Little back streets.”

It makes sense but it doesn’t help Louis’ sense of frustration.

***

Louis isn’t surprised that Harry is waiting for him in his room. After a miserable dinner of tinned potatoes and some unidentifiable tinned meat, Harry had disappeared - waving an acknowledgement when Louis called after him an instruction not to go down to the platform - and hadn’t returned. Louis, Zayn, and Niall sat in a loose circle, talking of this and that, and very determinedly not talking about anything that had happened that day, until finally Louis scrambled to his feet, yawning, and said:

“Right, I’m done. See you tomorrow.”

Niall, practically asleep on Zayn’s shoulder, just grunted. Zayn gave Louis a wan smile.

“You ok?” Louis asked.

“Nothing that won’t heal. You?”

“Same.” Louis was fairly sure he was lying every bit as badly as Zayn. “Sleep well, yeah.”

Now, even though he’s sure Zayn is already asleep, Louis makes sure to close the door firmly behind him. Harry is sitting on the bed but he gets up when Louis comes in, waiting for Louis to be ready before he folds Louis into his arms.

“Careful,” Louis mumbles into his hair. “It’s ok. I’m ok.”

“What if you hadn’t been?” Harry says fiercely, pulling him in tighter.

Louis doesn’t have an answer for that. He closes his eyes and hangs on to Harry instead, drawing comfort from the warmth and strength of him. “You don’t need me,” he says eventually. “You’d be fine.”

Harry huffs a laugh. “I’d be dead by now without you. We all would. How’s your foot?”

“Hurting,” Louis admits.

“Let me look.”

With anyone else, Louis knows he’d never let himself be looked after like this, but he lets Harry sit him down on the edge of the bed and undress him, because there’s something about the way Harry touches him so carefully and so reverently that disarms him completely.

“You don’t have to,” he says half-heartedly, as Harry examines the cut on his foot.

“I want to,” Harry insists.

Louis is sweaty and covered in dust and dirt from their expedition but Harry takes the time to fetch water and makes Louis stand up again so he can wash him clean. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t make a big deal out of Louis flinching a little when Harry touches his sides, his chest. He just washes him gently and efficiently and when he’s done he guides Louis back down and steps back.

“Are you done?” Louis asks teasingly.

Harry glances at him. He’s blushing. It’s a good look for him, Louis thinks.

“Want me to wash you?” The words tumble out before Louis can think better of them, and then he doesn’t want to take them back because Harry’s eyes widen and he nods.

“Please.”

He’s seen Harry naked before but this feels different. Intimate. Harry stretches out on the bed, kicking out his long, long legs, and Louis tries not to stare at his cock, half-hard against his thigh. He knows how this is going to go. He knows Harry is going to want to fuck him, and that’s ok because Louis can do this. He knows how to do this.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, catching hold of Louis’ hand where it hovers over Harry’s thigh. “We can… We don’t have to do anything. I know you don’t, like-”

“It’s ok,” Louis says. “I want to.”

It’s not really a lie. He’s had Harry inside him before: he knows Harry won’t hurt him, won’t try to humiliate him.

Harry sits up, frowning. “Come here,” he says. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought.

“What?” Louis sits down on the edge of the bed but Harry encourages him to lie down next to him. “If you want to watch the stars, Haz, we need to be outdoors.”

Harry snorts. “Idiot,” he says fondly, shifting so he’s kneeling over Louis, straddling his thighs.

Louis squirms under Harry’s steady gaze. “ _Harry_ ,” he complains. “Get on with it.” _Let me turn over_ , he means. _Let me take it_.

But Harry doesn’t. He smiles a small, secretive smile, and leans down and places a soft, deliberate kiss on Louis’ thigh.

Louis stares at him. “Now what are you doing?”

“Making you feel good,” Harry says cheerfully. He kisses Louis again, a little higher this time, and his hand settles on Louis’ other thigh and, before Louis can protest or even recognise what he’s about to do, he kisses the tip of Louis’ limp cock.

Louis shudders.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” Harry does it again, a soft, open-mouthed kiss.

Louis thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Let me,” he says, sitting up so Harry has no choice but to move. Harry opens his mouth to protest - probably to say something stupid, Louis thinks. He clamps his hand over Harry’s mouth. “Like this,” he says firmly.

Harry nods mutely, and Louis relaxes his grip, keeping a hold on Harry’s arm as he slides to his knees on the floor next to the bed so he can tug Harry into position and arrange him the way Louis wants him, sitting on the edge of the bed with his knees framing Louis’ shoulders.

“You never did give me that wash,” Harry says.

Louis glances up at him and smirks. “Do you want a corny line now or later?”

“I- ah! Maybe later,” Harry gasps as Louis wraps a hand around his cock and sucks gently on the head. “Fuck, you’re good at this.”

Louis lifts off and rolls his eyes. “I’m a pro,” he says dryly.

Harry makes a movement like he’s going to get Louis to stop and Louis hisses in annoyance. Harry freezes.

“Let me do this,” Louis says, enunciating every word precisely.

Harry lets him do it, his hands fisting at his sides as Louis takes him in, using everything he’s ever learnt to make it good for Harry. Harry tries to hold in his moans and soft cries but by the third time Louis gets him right to the brink only to back off at the very last moment Harry is practically sobbing in frustration.

“Please,” he says brokenly. “Please, Louis, _please_ …”

Louis glances up at him and smiles to himself because Harry is beautiful in his desperation, breathless and flushed, and _he’s_ done that, _he’s_ made Harry feel like that, and Louis might just be a little bit in love with him. It’s a strange, wonderful, terrifying realisation.

“It’s all right,” he says, stroking his thumb against Harry’s sweat-slick thigh. “I’ve got you.”

Harry practically _screams_ when he comes, jamming his hand into his mouth and biting down on his fingers to muffle the sound. Louis finds he doesn’t really care if Zayn or Niall hear or not. Part of him wants them to hear, wants them to know exactly what’s going on in here.

Harry collapses back onto the bed, whining softly as Louis licks him clean with tiny kitten licks.

“Want that wash now?” Louis asks, using Harry’s knees to lever himself to his feet.

Harry opens one eye. “I can’t move,” he says blearily.

“You don’t have to move,” Louis points out. “The idea is that you don’t move and I wash you.”

Harry makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a groan. “Y-yeah, ok. If you want.”

Louis goes to fetch some more water and a fresh scrap of cloth, one that isn’t contaminated by the dirt and grime he brought in from outside. He kneels on the bed next to Harry and wets the cloth, eyeing Harry with a mixture of amusement and pride because Harry looks wrecked.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Louis says teasingly, dragging the cloth down Harry’s side. Harry squawks and half-sits up at the cold, and Louis laughs. “Awake now?”

“I hate you,” Harry grumbles, lying back down. But he’s smiling a little, and he watches Louis intently as Louis starts to wash him clean in earnest, swiping the cloth across Harry’s shoulders and chest, teasingly circling his nipples just to see Harry shiver.

“Why do you have four nipples?” Louis asks curiously.

“Just do.”

“Oh, very informative.” Louis pokes at one with his fingertip and Harry giggles. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Harry’s cock twitches when Louis washes him there and his breathing hitches, just for a moment. Louis glances up at his face but Harry has his eyes closed and his expression is unreadable. Louis’ stomach churns.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asks abruptly.

Harry’s eyes snap open and he looks so comically startled Louis nearly bursts out laughing. “W-what?”

“You heard me,” Louis says patiently. He runs his finger down the length of Harry’s cock, feeling it thicken and harden under his touch. “You can, if you like.”

“I-I don’t know if-” Harry stops. “Do you want that?”

“Yes,” Louis says. And then, because he doesn’t want Harry to put too much thought into this, he adds, “There’s some almond oil, over there. To make it easier. I took it out of one of the boxes when Zayn wasn’t looking.”

“Oh, you planned this?” Harry looks less tense now, but he’s still watching Louis intently, seemingly almost oblivious to Louis’ hand on his cock.

Louis gives him a smile. “Maybe.”

It’s not a lie, he tells himself when Harry smiles in return and sits up to kiss him, winding his hand into Louis’ hair and moaning softly into his mouth as Louis strokes him. He needs Harry to fuck him. He’s looked death in the face today, looked failure in the face. He needs this.

“How do you-”

“Like this is fine,” Louis tells him, disengaging from Harry’s embrace and arranging himself face-down. “Get the oil. Do it.”

He worries for a moment that Harry won’t, that he’ll try and touch Louis again, make it good for Louis in the way that makes Louis want to vomit. But, after a brief hesitation, Harry goes and fetches the oil and brings it back to the bed and Louis closes his eyes.

“Just fuck me,” he says. “I don’t need- Just do it.”

Harry’s breathing hitches again. “Are you sure? I could-”

“Just fuck me, Harry. Please.”

It hurts when Harry pushes in - it’s been a while for Louis - but his body remembers and he breathes through it and the discomfort is worth it to have Harry close and to hear the sounds Harry is making, the words he mumbles in Louis’ ears: Louis knows Harry doesn’t really mean any of them but he likes the illusion.

“Was that- was that ok?” Harry asks afterwards, blinking sleepily as Louis gets out of bed to wash himself.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Yeah, it was ok.”

Harry smiles at him, sated and drowsy. Louis brings him another clean cloth so he can clean up and then Louis blows out the candle and they curl up together in the darkness, Harry pressed up against Louis’ back, his arm around Louis’ waist.

***

“What the fuck,” Louis splutters when Niall shakes him awake.

Next to him, Harry is stirring from sleep, mumbling to himself and tightening his grip on Louis’ arm. Niall glances over at him, spots of colour high on his cheeks, and Louis remembers that, yes, he and Harry had sex and the room probably reeks of it and if Zayn hadn’t already told Niall that Harry was sleeping in Louis’ bed then Niall certainly knows now.

“What do you want?” he demands.

“You need to come down.”

“For what?” Louis rubs at his eyes. He’s fairly certain he hasn’t had more than a couple of hours sleep. “What’s so urgent?”

“You’ll see,” Niall says cryptically.

Louis sighs and sits up, remembering that he’s naked as Niall coughs and looks away. “Does this need Harry, too?”

Niall nods. “Yeah. Yeah, he should come.”

“Right.” Louis elbows Harry. “Wake up, Haz.”

Harry opens his eyes and looks at Louis and then Niall. “What’s going on?”

“You need to see this, come on,” Niall says urgently. He turns away to let them get dressed with a modicum of privacy.

As he pulls on his shirt Louis hears a rumbling sound that could be distant thunder … except they don’t hear the weather down here. It’s not the sound of an approaching train either.

“Is there a storm?” he asks, confused. He can’t imagine why Niall would get him out of bed for a storm anyway; underground, there’s nothing that can hurt them. Unless-

“Is the roof coming down or something?”

Niall shakes his head. “No.”

“Then what?”

“We don’t know. Just come and see.”

Following Niall down the staircase to the platform, the rumbling sound gets louder. It’s not one continuous sound, as Louis had assumed earlier, but a series of sounds with no obvious pattern to them, some loud and booming, some sharp and staccato, all rolling together and pushed through the tunnel mouth on a rush of heated air.

Zayn is standing on the platform, waiting for them. Louis has time to give him an interrogative look before the wind blows out the candle Niall is holding, leaving them in darkness.

“Thought you’d want to see this,” Zayn says.

Louis shuffles forward so he can hear Zayn more clearly. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“No idea.”

“We heard screaming,” Niall supplies.

“It might not have been screaming,” Zayn says. “But it probably was.”

Louis can feel Harry behind him, and he reaches back to touch Harry’s arm in reassurance. Harry’s hand clasps his wrist, squeezing gently.

They stand there for what feels like hours, listening to the distant sounds. No one says anything. Finally the noises peter out and the air is still again but still none of them move, none of them speak. All of them are listening, ears straining to pick up even the slightest sound, but all they hear is their own ragged breathing.

“Come on,” Louis says eventually. “Let’s go back up. We can’t stand here all night.”

“What the fuck was that?” Harry asks. “Was it a train?”

“Running on what?” Zayn coughs. “There’s a load of dust come down the tunnel, whatever it was.”

“And whatever it was, it can wait until morning,” Louis says decisively. “We’ll take it in turns to stand guard at the top of the stairs, yeah?”

They make their way back up the stairs by touch. Louis takes the first shift, sitting on the very top step so he see and hear if anything or anyone comes up the stairs after them. Harry, after the briefest brush of fingers against Louis’ arm, follows Zayn and Niall to get what sleep he can.

***

It’s a little after seven in the morning when Louis and Zayn head down to the platform again. The trains are running normally as far as Louis can tell, although he thinks they’re not halting as long at the signals as they have done in the past. Neither of them speak as they make their way to the end of the platform and drop down onto the track. After all their running yesterday, they’re both moving more slowly today. Zayn is limping a little but he’d stubbornly refused to stay behind when Louis had asked.

“You’re going to take Harry or Niall down there?” he’d asked pointedly, and Louis had let it drop.

He’s barely had a chance to speak to Harry today; by the time Niall had relieved his watch Harry had been asleep and Louis hadn’t had the heart to wake him. When he’d woken, Harry had been gone. Now he’s in the ticket hall with Niall, looking to see if they can use anything up there for firewood, in case they can’t get any more meths for the stove.

“We should have brought something to barter,” Zayn says, after a while.

“Like what? We haven’t got that much left,” Louis points out.

“Them tinned peaches. And there’s two tins of powdered milk left.”

“We can always come back later,” Louis says shortly.

They keep walking. Their footsteps echo off the tunnel walls and somewhere up ahead Louis can hear water dripping. Maybe it’s raining up on the surface, he thinks. He keeps peering ahead, looking for any signs of life, but there’s nothing. The torch Zayn is carrying seems to outline the darkness more than light their way and Louis thinks regretfully of the one they threw away.

He’s looking down at the tunnel floor when he finally realises what he’s seeing. Or not seeing, because there are no caltrops waiting to spear his healing foot, and when Zayn flashes up the torch so they can see their way to climbing over the rubble barrier into the next station that’s gone too. Remnants of glass and wire rope litter the tunnel floor, glittering in the torchlight.

“What the fuck…” Zayn whispers.

“Keep going,” Louis hisses back. “Something’s happened. We need to know what.”

“Someone’s left a boot here- oh fuck.” Zayn stops so suddenly that Louis walks into the back of him. “Fuck,” he says again.

Louis swallows back a rush of nausea. He hadn’t much liked Roy but he’d never wanted the man dead. And he is very _much_ dead, going by the gaping hole in his chest. Not the sort of injury you survive.

“We need to get back,” Zayn says.

“No,” Louis says, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. “We need to know what happened.”

It takes them two hours to search the station, much less than that to be sure that no one’s been left alive. There are bodies everywhere; men, women, and children. Louis counts seventy-three bodies. Nothing’s been taken, as far as they can tell.

“We did this,” Zayn says quietly after they’ve finished searching the ticket hall.

“No,” Louis says.

Zayn shakes his head, kicking at a broken tile in the floor. “We did. They thought we were from here, those soldiers. They came back here and they did this, and we did this. We killed them.”

“It’s not our fault,” Louis says doggedly. “We- Look, I know this is shit, right? But we need to take what we can from here.”

Zayn looks up. “Steal stuff?”

“Stealing from the dead.” Louis looks round the ticket hall. “They don’t need it; we do. I know it’s fucked up but we can’t help them now.”

He thinks for a moment that Zayn is going to protest but Zayn nods, reluctantly. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just, like, shit. They had all those defences, and we don’t.”

“Didn’t help them much.”

“We can’t even bury them.” Zayn kicks at the tile again. “Fuck.”

It takes the four of them the rest of the day to systematically go through the other station, scavenging - _salvaging_ , Louis calls it - what they can and carrying it back to their own station. There’s plenty to eat, at least, and a good supply of meths for the stove. And, to Louis’ delight, a couple of good-quality torches and plenty of batteries for them. All in all, it’s a good haul, but none of them feel particularly gleeful about it.

Louis tries not to think of it as looting a grave, but he’s not sorry when they leave the other station for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene between Harry and Louis is one I was both hesitant to write (because I want them to be happy!) and really needed to write because, ultimately, Louis is not ok. Neither is Harry (and nor are Zayn and Niall), but Louis has been through some deeply traumatic experiences in his life that affect both his sense of self and how he sees sex and intimacy. He may be in love with Harry, and Harry may be in love with him, but that's no quick fix. And I didn't want to handwave away what either of them have been through.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dubcon in this part follows on from the previous chapter - please see the end notes.

On the fourth day of exploring on the surface they get lucky. A tiny side street, tucked between an abandoned warehouse and a burnt-out office building, turns out to contain not one but three buildings that haven't been entirely ransacked. Two yield an assortment of wall panels, old wiring, and a bucket, and they’re pleased enough with those, but then the last building turns out to be a goldmine beyond their wildest dreams.

"It's like Christmas," Niall says happily, as they sort out the assorted items of clothing, some still on hangars with price tags attached, along with their other finds. The clothes had been haphazardly stashed in boxes, as if someone had tried to hide them away, and they’re mostly free of the thick layer of dust that had covered everything else in the shop.

Louis can't disagree with Niall’s assessment. He's landed a pair of new boots that fit him perfectly, three pairs of socks, a pair of jeans, a couple of t shirts, and four pairs of boxer shorts. Since their old clothes are battered and torn and mostly filthy, and washing them in rain water with soap that barely lathers doesn’t do much to get the grime out, it's unimaginable luxury to be able to pick out replacements that are clean and intact.

"What are we going to do with those?" Zayn asks, indicating the small pile of women's clothes they'd taken, since Louis had said there was no point leaving them behind.

“You want them?”

Zayn holds up a tiny, glittery top. “Not my colour,” he deadpans.

"Your choice. We'll barter them."

"To who?" Zayn says pointedly.

"Whom," Harry corrects.

"Yeah, whatever. Corpses don't want dresses."

"We'll find someone else," Louis says sharply. "There'll be ... others. Other people we can barter with."

"You seen anyone up there?"

"We've hardly looked. Maybe it's just really-"

"Dead?"

" _Quiet_ around here." Louis rubs a hand across his eyes. It's been a long day and he's tired, and he hates the way they've all started sniping at each other lately. "Maybe we need to go a bit further."

"We can only cover so much," Zayn says. "Only four of us. Maybe if we split up-"

"No," Louis says sharply. "We explore in twos. Nobody goes off alone, ok? I don't want anyone falling over something and breaking a leg and none of us knowing."

They all mutter agreement, and then Zayn says:

"I need sleep."

They break up. Harry follows Louis back to his room without a word. Louis is very aware of Zayn and Niall watching them leave and part of him wants to hang around, out of sight, see if he can listen in to what they're saying. He knows they talk about them; he sees it in the way they look at him, and at Harry. He doesn’t like it at all, hates the sudden distance between the four of them, hates that it’s become a _thing_ that he doesn’t know how to fix.

"I'll talk to Niall, if you want," Harry says when they're alone and the door is shut behind them.

"What? Why?" Louis tugs his new t shirt over his head and throws it into the corner.

"Everyone's angry at each other."

"I don't think that's something you can just fix, Haz," Louis says. Harry is toeing off his new boots and unzipping his new jeans. Louis takes a moment to appreciate how good he looks in the jeans before Harry takes them off. "It's... We're all tired. We're all hungry. We just need to get things sorted again. Set ourselves up so we can be safe."

"Do you think we are?" Harry asks, moving to stand behind Louis. "Safe?"

"No," Louis admits reluctantly. He sags back into Harry's embrace. “Not yet.”

“Can we be?”

Louis thinks about lying but the truth is easier, with Harry. “I don’t know.”

"Do you think those soldiers will come back?"

"Why so many questions?" Louis tilts his head to the side, letting Harry pepper a series of soft kisses to his neck. "They don't have a reason to. They'll think they took care of the problem, and we haven't touched the trains." Which is a problem, because they're rapidly running out of food and Louis suspects rainwater isn't going to sustain them for long. "We've just got to be more careful from now on."

Harry seems content with the response, and Louis hopes he is. Louis sucks his cock and Harry lets him get away with that and doesn't try to touch him.

It’s all good.

***

It snows the next day. Harry is the first to know, elbowing Louis awake in the early hours to excitedly tell him that the snow is falling.

“I don’t care,” Louis grumbles, trying to burrow deeper into his bedding. “Let me go back to sleep.”

“You have to see this,” Harry says insistently. He shines the torch directly at Louis’ face.

“No,” Louis says, turning his face into his bedding. “Go away.”

“ _Louis_.”

Louis groans and cracks open an eye. As he suspected, Harry looks smug. “You’re not going to let me go back to sleep, are you?” he says resignedly.

“Nope. Not until you’ve seen this.”

Louis gives in. He gets up and dresses in as many layers as he can and follows Harry up to the ticket hall. The temperature drops noticeably as they near the surface and Louis can smell it now, the sharp scent of snow. Harry clicks off the torch as they clamber out into the open air and they stand for a moment in the shelter of the ruined entrance way. The snow is falling thickly, big, fat flakes whirling down from the sky. It’s settling fast, already deep enough to almost cover Louis’ boot’ when he steps experimentally out of the entrance. Louis hasn’t seen snow like this in years.

“See?” Harry says. Louis can’t make out his expression but he senses that Harry’s grinning like a child.

“It’s pretty,” Louis says. “Also cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm.” Harry moves to stand behind him again, pressing up against Louis’ back.

“That is _such_ a corny line,” Louis says, but he makes no move to disengage because Harry’s body is like a furnace and it’s nice to stand with him watching the snow fall, romantic in a stupidly _Harry_ way. “You could have waited until morning.”

“It _is_ morning,” Harry says reasonably.

“You know what I mean. What were you doing up, anyway?”

Harry stills, suddenly awkward. “Just… You know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Louis says patiently. “What?”

“Just walking,” Harry says, and stops again. _Fine_ , Louis thinks crossly. _Don’t tell me_.

But Harry isn’t done.

“I had a bad dream,” he says, very quietly. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“You should have woken me up,” Louis says immediately.

“You were asleep. I know you like your sleep.”

“Yeah.” Louis elbows him, not too hard. “You woke me up to see the snow though. What was the dream about?”

Harry sighs. “Nothing. It was- it was nothing important. Just a stupid dream.”

"About what?"

"Nothing important." Harry shifts his balance, pulling Louis closer against him. "Don't you have nightmares?"

"Not really," Louis lies.

Harry is quiet for a while. Louis doesn't trust the silence; he can practically feel Harry's thought process whirring through its iterations and he knows it's just a matter of time before Harry settles on a way to ask his next question.

"Did you ever see your mum and dad? After?" Harry asks, and Louis is caught off guard because that wasn't the question he was expecting.

"No," he says, too surprised to come up with an explanation that will make Harry feel better about it. "Of course not. They're dead for all I know."

"I'm sorry," Harry says quietly.

"Why?" Louis watches his breath mist in the air in front of him. "I don't really remember them. Can't miss what you don't remember."

"We could go and look for them."

Louis snorts. "Harry, I wouldn't know where to start looking and they wouldn't even recognise me if I found them. And how fucking awkward would it be? What am I going to say, ‘hi Mum, remember me? It's your son, remember, the one you sold. No?’ Anyway, they'd probably turn me in anyway; they could get some more money for me."

"You don't know they sold you for that," Harry says. "They might-"

"Harry, stop," Louis cuts him off. "Just drop it, yeah? I know why they sold me, ok. My sister was ill, they needed medicine for her, they needed the money; I get that, I do. Everything was fucked up back then. I don't hate them. I don’t. I just don't feel anything towards them."

"Maybe you should be angry," Harry says softly. His arms tighten around Louis' waist. "You should be angry about what happened to you."

Louis rolls his eyes, knowing Harry can't see. "Harry, on a scale of one to ten of people who have done bad things to me, my mum and dad rank about minus five. Drop it."

Harry doesn't say anything, but he kisses the back of Louis' neck and it feels like an apology.

The snow shows no sign of letting up; if anything, it seems to be falling more heavily. Louis is getting a bad feeling about it.

“What?” Harry says, perhaps sensing the tension in Louis’ body.

“Just thinking,” Louis tells him. “If this hangs around, it’s going to cause problems for us, maybe. If the streets get blocked up.”

Harry nods. “We’ve got food,” he points out.

“We’ve got _some_ food.” Louis frowns at the sky. “Doesn’t mean we have enough to keep us going if we get snowed in. I remember we got cut off for two weeks once at the house.”

“Cities are supposed to be warmer,” Harry argues.

“Yeah, cities with _people_ in them, Haz. Not fucking ghost towns.”

Louis frowns. The movement at the edge of his vision is tiny, so small he almost misses it in the darkness and the swirling snow. He turns his head a little, focusing on the spot he saw it last, but there's nothing.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks.

Louis doesn't reply. Again, he nearly misses the movement. It's not in the area he's been staring at, but off to the side. A flicker of shadow, something that can't be written off to the night and an overactive imagination.

"Louis?"

"Something's out there," he hisses.

Harry stiffens. "Where?"

"Over there, where the bit over the door has come down. Just below that."

It's not an animal; Louis' pretty sure of that. They've seen a few animals in their explorations - rats, feral cats, even a couple of foxes and a badger once - but nothing that walks on two legs. It's a person out there in the snow, maybe more than one.

"What do we do?" Harry whispers.

"Back up," Louis tells him. "Slowly."

He thinks they're mostly hidden anyway, in the shadows cast by the entrance way, but he guides Harry to move slowly backwards, one cautious step at a time, until he's sure they're out of sight. They climb back down into the station itself and when they reach the ticket hall Louis can breathe again.

"Who are they?" Harry asks.

"I have no idea." Louis eyes the hole in the rubble, now a weakness in their defences. "I'm not going out in that to find out though."

"No," Harry agrees at once.

"We'll block the entrance up for now, and in the morning – when it’s daylight - we'll go and look."

"Were they soldiers?" Harry asks as they lift pieces of rubble into place to block the hole.

Louis shakes his head. "Don't think so. If they were soldiers they'd have come marching right up, yeah? Whoever that was ... they probably don't even know we're here."

He eyes their makeshift defences. He's not entirely happy about blocking up their escape route, and the more he thinks about it the more he wonders if what he saw was nothing more than shadows. He scrubs at his stubbled cheek distractedly.

"I'll stay on watch. You go back to bed."

"I'm not sleepy," Harry says. "I'll stay with you, if you like."

Louis does and doesn't want Harry to stay - the company is good, especially when keeping watch means sitting alone in the darkness with plenty of time to think about running for his life and the destruction of the other station. But he's scared that Harry will want to pursue his earlier topic of conversation if he stays, and maybe turn the conversation to other things Louis doesn't want to talk about.

“All right,” he says.

To Louis’ relief Harry is mostly silent, sitting down on the floor next to Louis and enfolding Louis' hand in his. Louis has no idea how much time has passed by the time Zayn and Niall come looking for them. Harry is asleep by then, snoring away on Louis' shoulder. Zayn raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, and Louis quickly explains what they saw out in the snow.

"Could be good," Niall says, frowning. "We could trade with them."

"If they're friendly."

"We won't know until we go and look." Louis carefully disengages from Harry, trying not to wake him, but the moment he lets go of Harry's hand Harry opens his eyes.

"Louis?"

"Right here," Louis reassures him. "Time to rise and shine."

Harry looks around, blinking in the torchlight. “Is it morning?”

“Seven o’clock,” Zayn informs him.

Harry makes a face, wincing as he stretches.

"You ok?" Louis asks.

"My back hurts." Harry stretches again, more carefully this time. "It was my own fault. Shouldn't have fallen asleep like that."

Louis stands up. He's not feeling great either. His bed may not be soft but it's softer than the floor of the ticket hall, and warmer too. The cold and damp seem to have seeped into his bones, settled into his spine.

"We going out to have a look?" Zayn asks.

"Yeah." Louis reaches down to help Harry to his feet. "Just- I'm going for a piss. No rush, is there? Is it still snowing?"

Niall goes to look, moving a few pieces of the rubble they'd piled in the hole. "It's stopped," he reports when he returns. "It's all drifted into the entrance though. Cold as fuck out there."

"Right," Louis says decisively. "I'm going to put on a couple more layers too. See you in a bit."

He debates having a shave too, while he's in his room, but he doesn't want to give the others too much time to think about going outside without him, so he settles for a quick wash before he goes back up to where Niall and Zayn are waiting. Harry comes up a few minutes later; unlike Louis he has taken the time to shave. He's nicked his chin and Louis absently reaches over and wipes the trickle of blood away.

"You and me going, yeah?" Zayn asks, handing Louis the slice of tinned meat that constitutes breakfast.

Louis nods. "Yeah. We'll just have a look around, see what's going on. If there's nothing, we'll work our way down that street after the bus stop, see what's there."

"And what if there is something?"

Louis forces a smile. "Then we'll deal with it. Not going to worry about it until we have to."

His heart is pounding as they unblock the hole in the rubble again and climb out into the fresh air. The cold hits him immediately; it's much colder than it was in the night and the chill sears his lungs and makes him cough. Zayn has his hands cupped over his mouth and nose, and Louis does the same.

"This is shit," Zayn says. "I don't remember it ever being this cold. What the fuck's going on with the weather?"

Louis doesn't remember a winter quite as bad as this either, but then he doesn't really have much to compare it to. In the house they'd mostly been cosseted from harsh reality, kept warm and fed and safely indoors. Even when they’d been cut off there had been plenty of food, and a generator to keep the house running normally. Now they have no real winter clothes, no heating, and a rapidly diminishing stockpile of food. Their only saving grace is the shelter of the station; underground, it's warmer than it is on the surface.

"Come on," he says. "We'll have a look and get back, yeah?"

Zayn nods, rubbing his hands together and stamping his feet to keep warm. The snow has drifted a good two feet high against the walls of the entranceway, but once into the street it's less than six inches deep, and it's still virgin snow, easy to walk on.

"We should have waited until the sun came up," Zayn says.

"It's light enough to see." Louis wonders sometimes if their eyes are actually adapting to the regular light of light, because he's able to pick out things in the darkness he's fairly sure he would never have been able to just a few months previously. "And we need to know."

"Even if you did see someone-"

"I did."

"Even if you did, that doesn't mean there'll be footprints or anything." Zayn stops, coughing harshly. "It was snowing last night, yeah? The footprints are probably gone."

Louis hadn't thought of that; he blames lack of sleep and Harry's determination to get him to talk about his parents for the oversight. He should have thought of it. He settles for, "We need to look."

Zayn doesn’t argue, but his silence speaks volumes. Or maybe Louis is imagining it. He rubs a hand tiredly across his eyes. He’s starting to feel like he doesn’t really have a handle on anything any more.

“So,” Zayn begins.

“Don’t even say it.”

Zayn’s fingertips brush against Louis’ arm, the gentlest, most fleeting touch. And still Louis flinches.

“Fuck, Louis…”

“It’s fine,” Louis says. “I’m fine.”

He thinks for a moment that Zayn won’t drop it, but then Zayn sighs and says:

“We could look for a week and not find anything out here.”

There are footprints, though, barely visible up against the wall of a shop, as if someone halted for a moment to catch their breath in the shelter of the overhang. Louis and Zayn stare at the prints for a while.

"They're small," Zayn says eventually.

"Not a soldier then." Louis leans down to get a better look at one of the imprints. "Unless they've started recruiting very _small_ soldiers. This is a kid's footprint."

"Did you see a kid?"

"I don't know," Louis admits. "It was a way off, it was dark, the snow was coming down ... it could have been. I don't know. Are there any more footprints?"

They find some, a few metres away. They seem to be a little bigger to Louis' eyes, but it's hard to be sure. They're heading away from the station, at least.

"Are we going to follow them?" he asks, already knowing what the answer is going to be. Zayn is as likely to head back to the station now as he is: they both need to know what’s going on.

It's not an easy trail to follow - the snow has erased most of the prints and sometimes the footprints disappear and they have to hunt around for several minutes to pick up the trail again. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been so cold in his life. His hands and feet are solid blocks of ice and his teeth are chattering non-stop. He forces himself to move faster, trying to generate heat from activity, but he knows they have to be careful; hypothermia is a very real possibility.

And then the cold doesn't seem to matter so much any more, because something presses into the small of his back, something that even through his clothes he can feel is a knife, and a voice hisses in his ear:

"Don't move."

Louis doesn't move, but his mind is racing, trying to understand how they managed to miss the two figures holding Zayn and the one with the knife behind him.

"Turn around. Slowly."

Louis turns around, holding his hands up to show there's nothing in them. He's not sure what he's expecting to see but it certainly isn't the girl standing in front of him. She's in her mid-teens, he guesses. Dirty-blond hair poking out from under her knitted hat and a nasty-looking scar on her cheek. She only comes up to his shoulder but she holds the knife in her hand with intent, hand steady, and she doesn't take her eyes off him.

"We're not-" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"Not here. In there." She gestures at the building on the other side of the road, which looks more intact than most of the buildings on this street. "And don't even think about trying anything."

Louis tries to work out the chances of disarming her; she gives him a particularly knowing look and points the blade at his face.

"Don't even think about it."

Louis looks at Zayn. Zayn shrugs. They do what they're told, stumbling over their feet as they cross the road and duck under the partially-collapsed lintel of what was once a coffee shop. The girl and the two men - they're both wrapped up so well Louis can't be sure of their exact ages but he guesses late teens or early twenties - follow at a distance.

"Over there, by the wall," the girl directs.

"We could run," Zayn murmurs.

"Where?" Louis shoots back. "Anyway, we wanted to find people."

"Not people with a fucking knife!"

"Less talking," the girl snaps. "You," she says to Zayn, "you sit over there. You-" She turns to Louis. "You're talking to me."

"Lucky you," Zayn mutters.

“If he tries anything, kill him,” she tells the men guarding Zayn. “If this one tries anything, kill him.”

“I’m not going to try anything,” Louis says. He tries for a smile. “We’re not dangerous.”

She snorts derisively. “Yeah, we know that. How do you think we caught you so easily?”

That stings a little; Louis thought they were doing pretty well at blending in to their surroundings. She smirks when she sees his discomfort.

“What are you, runaways? Yeah, you are, aren’t you? Is it just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Louis lies.

She snorts again. Louis eyes the knife. It’s far too close to him for comfort. He’s all too aware of how _easy_ it would be for her to kill him, to kill both of them here. No one would ever know. Harry and Niall would probably never even find their bodies. The thought makes him feel sick.

“What about you?” he asks boldly. “Are you runaways?”

She shakes her head. “No. We’re … we’re not that.”

"We saw someone out in the snow. A kid's footprints. We just thought ... we didn't know-" Louis breaks off, hoping she'll get the idea that they're not a threat. "We didn't mean any harm. Sorry if this is your territory or, or whatever."

For some reason that makes her laugh, loud and startling. Louis feels his face heating.

"I-" he starts, but she cuts over him.

"This isn't our territory and we know you're not a threat. Look at you; you don't even have a knife between you."

"We don't need one," Zayn says.

She turns to look at him, before looking back at Louis. "Oh, you do, believe me. Where are you living?"

"I'm not going to tell you that," Louis says firmly.

She nods, as if she was expecting it. "Fair enough. But you should watch out. I know you probably don't know this stuff if you're runaways, but you're not safe here."

"Oh, we know _that_ ," Zayn says meaningfully.

The girl runs a hand through her hair and sighs, and she does look her age then, stripped for a moment of the brittle sharpness she wears like armour. She can't be much older than Louis' sister would be now. The thought makes his heart hurt a little.

"I'm Summer," she says, to Louis' surprise. He wasn't expecting the familiarity of a name.

"Louis. That's Zayn over there." Louis tries for a smile again. "Look, we were just looking for the kid, that's all. We're not trying to start trouble."

"You and me both." She lowers the knife, but doesn't put it away. “I appreciate you looking, but you don't need to. We'll find her."

"Her?"

Summer gives him a wary look. "My sister."

"Right." When she doesn't volunteer any more information, Louis adds, "Is she lost?" He adds quickly, “I mean, we just want to help. That’s all.”

Summer eyes him disbelievingly. “Go on like that and you have the life expectancy of a gerbil out here.” She looks over at Zayn and then back at him. “You’re not lying, are you?”

“No. Not lying.” Louis hopes he looks sincere. “We really were just looking.”

"I knew I shouldn't have left her here." Summer kicks distractedly at the ground. "But Mike - my brother - he said it was safer out here. That they were left alone out here. And they were, for three years, and then-"

"And then what?"

"Soldiers came and killed them all," Summer says bleakly.

The blood in Louis' veins seems to have turned to ice water. "How, how did they kill them?" he asks carefully.

There's a pause before Summer answers, during which Louis doesn't dare look at Zayn, hardly dares breathe. When she does start to speak again her voice is so soft Louis has to strain to hear her.

"It was the best place, he said. He always said that. We didn't live there before but then when Mum died he said we needed to find somewhere safe, somewhere where there were other people. Somewhere safe." She stops, swallows. "And it _was_ safe. It's been years, and then we started to hear the rumours and we walked out and, and..." She trails off.

"Where was the safe place?" Louis hates pushing but he has to know, has to confirm his own dreadful suspicions. He tells himself it’s a coincidence; that it can’t possibly be related to what happened to the next station, but her next words shatter his hopes.

"The big station, on the deep line. Camden."

_Shit_. Louis presses his fingertips against the wall behind him, just to have something to ground him as the shop sways around him. He's just glad neither she nor the two men are looking directly at him or Zayn, because he's fairly sure guilt is written across both their faces.

"We, we were in the next station," he says. He hears the waver in his voice; he hopes no one else does.

Summer looks sharply at him. "Did you hear anything, when it happened?"

"No," he lies. He has a strong feeling that this is probably a bad time to mention that they'd ransacked the other station and the bodies of the dead, and definitely a bad time to mention that the destruction of the other station is almost entirely their fault. "We didn't know. We didn't have much to do with them."

To his relief she seems to accept that. "Well, that's what happened. Soldiers came and they just took it apart. There's nothing left. I don't know why ... they were always so careful not to draw attention-"

Louis very carefully does not look at Zayn.

"-but it didn't help, in the end. And now I have to find my sister, because she's all I have left."

"We can help you look," Zayn offers.

Summer shakes her head. "No. No, you'll only scare her. She's only eight. She doesn't know you. We'll find her. You should, you should go back. Stay out of the way."

"Ok." Louis gives Zayn a hard look, trying to convey without words that they need to leave, before either of them manage to drop themselves in it. Summer seems calm enough now but Louis has a feeling she wouldn't react well to discovering that they were responsible for so much destruction and the knife, while not currently pointed at him, is still in her hand. "We'll leave you to it, then. Where do you live, so we can stay away?"

She looks startled for a second, and then laughs. "Clever. We don't live out here. We live in the City."

"Isn't that illegal, for like-" Zayn pulls at his worn, dirty shirt for emphasis. "Us?"

"Not if you know how," Summer says lightly. "If you know how to disappear when you need to."

She gestures to the two men, who still haven't said a word between them, and the three of them start moving towards the door. Half way across the room she hesitates, turning back to look at Louis.

"Because you said you'd help," she says quietly. "I'll help you. You're really not safe out here, you know. Not just from the soldiers - they don't come out here much. But there are other things, and you won't stand a chance."

"Thanks," Louis says, but she isn't done.

"One day, you might need to run. Don't use the rail tunnels - there are guards everywhere the closer you get to the City. But there's another way in, a way they don't watch." She licks her finger, trails it through the dust and dirt on the ground, and sketches a quick series of lines on the wall. "Here? Where we are now. Here? There's a grill set into the wall. It comes open. Go through there and down the ladder and there's a river, underground. The Fleet. It'll take you north, out of here if you like. Or downstream into the City."

"And then what?" Zayn asks. "What do we do when we get inside? _If_ we get inside."

She spares him a smirk. "Oh, don't worry, you'll find someone who can show you the way.” And with that, she's gone as quickly and as silently as she appeared.

Louis and Zayn look at each other.

"Well," Louis says. "That was interesting."

"She's insane," Zayn says. "Underground rivers? Loony. And why the fuck would we want to go into the City?"

Louis doesn't say anything. He's been once, when he was younger. With Caroline, who had borrowed him from the house for two days to take him to a party. Most of the trip had gone by in a blur of pain and terror but snatches of memory remain: marble floors and lush carpets, glittering jewels and expensive perfume, ringing laughter and the clink of champagne glasses, rain falling on uniformed chauffeurs and shining cars.

"If anyone came after us," Zayn continues, oblivious to Louis' abstraction. "We'd get the fuck out of here, yeah? Go and live in a field somewhere."

"A field," Louis says flatly. "Great plan."

Zayn lightly punches his arm. "Can just see you in a field."

"Fuck off." Louis looks around at their surroundings. There's nothing worth salvaging from the shop. "Come on; we should get back. The others will be wondering where we are."

"Yeah." Zayn hesitates, as if he's not sure how to go on. "Are, are we going to tell them? About what she said?"

Louis thinks about it for all of thirty seconds. "No. Harry's upset enough as it is. What they don't know won't hurt them. It's not like we're going to ever see her again, is it? Just leave it."

"Right. Got to make sure Harry's ok."

Louis whirls around. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Zayn raises his hands. "Means nothing."

"You're fucking right it doesn't." Louis takes a breath, counts to ten. He's being ridiculous, he knows. His defensiveness is proving Zayn's point, the point he doesn't even need to articulate because it’s so obvious to both of them. "It's not like that," he says.

"Right." Zayn starts to pick his way towards the door. "He's fucking you, though." It's not a question.

"Jealous much?"

"Stop fucking deflecting; I know you too well for that to work," Zayn says amiably, and ducks out into the street.

Louis scowls to himself and hurries out after Zayn, quickly scanning the street. There's no sign of Summer's little party, or anyone else, but he notices that the sky is grey and ominous. It's going to snow again.

"Unless you want to make a snowman, we should get moving." He glances up at the sky again. "Or be a snowman."

"Have you even told him?"

"Told him what? You think I want to have a cosy heart to heart with him, like it's not bad enough that he's already seen- that he knows? Fuck off."

"He thinks you like being fucked," Zayn says, irritatingly calmly, and Louis' temper finally boils over.

"Maybe I do, how do you fucking know? You and Liam might have been all hearts and flowers and fucking roses but maybe I'm fine with how things are!"

He knows he's gone too far about a second after the words leave his mouth, but by then it's far too late to pull them back.

"Fuck you," Zayn says, and turns and walks away.

***

By the time Louis gets back to the station Zayn is nowhere in sight but Harry is, shuffling restlessly from foot to foot in the entranceway. His face lights up when he sees Louis and he rushes out to greet him, pulling Louis into his arms and hugging him close.

"Hey," Louis says, his voice muffled by Harry's arm. "I'm ok, you know."

"Missed you," Harry says simply, hugging him tighter.

"Is Zayn back?" Louis knows he is; he'd followed his footprints in the snow.

"Yeah." Harry pulls back a little. "He seemed a bit pissed off."

"He is," Louis says shortly. "My fault. Come on, let's get inside. Not standing out here all day. What time is it, anyway?"

"Nearly noon."

"Shit, really?" Louis looks up at the sky. There's no sign of the sun. "I didn't know we'd been gone that long."

Harry presses a kiss to his temple. "Yeah, you were. But you're back now. And you're freezing. Let me warm you up."

Louis groans. "Please stop using that line, Haz. You're embarrassing both me and yourself."

"You love it," Harry says, and turns to go into the station before Louis can think of anything to say in response.

There's no sign of Zayn or Niall in the ticket hall or in the main room downstairs. Louis gives Harry an abridged version of what happened, without going into the details of his falling-out with Zayn, and then he goes to his room and strips off the outer layers of his clothing and curls up in bed and, after a while, Harry comes through with his lunch.

"What gourmet delights have we today?" Louis half-sits up, trying to see what Harry is carrying.

"Ham and something pie, I think," Harry says, handing it over. "What's left of it, anyway. Leek, maybe."

Louis pokes it experimentally. "Could be cabbage." It’s hard to tell in the candlelight.

"Could be," Harry agrees, kicking off his boots.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting into bed with you. To warm you up."

Harry's hands fumble with his belt buckle and Louis doesn't feel hungry any more. He forces himself to take a bite, trying to concentrate on the food rather than the sight of Harry pushing his jeans down his legs, and the bulge of his half-hard cock in his boxer shorts.

“Harry,” he complains when Harry plasters himself against Louis’ side and his fingers tease at Louis’ waistband. “Trying to eat here.”

“You’re not eating,” Harry says reasonably. “And it’s cold; it’ll keep until later.”

He takes the tin from Louis’ unresisting hands and places it down on the floor, before moving back to kiss Louis, gentle and eager and determined, his hands never still as he pets and caresses Louis’ cheek, his chest, his arms. Louis lets himself relax into it, stroking his hands across Harry’s broad back, holding back his flinch when Harry’s hand starts to drift lower.

“Harry…”

“It’s ok,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth. “I won’t, I won’t touch you like you don’t like. I just want to-” He stops and says, very seriously, “Do you want to?”

Louis stares helplessly into Harry’s eyes, sees the need and the longing in them, and knows what the inevitable answer is. He nods mutely, and Harry smiles.

“You should get these off,” he says, tugging at Louis’ t shirt. “Need you without the clothes.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Louis says. His voice cracks a little but Harry doesn’t seem to notice, sitting back on his heels so Louis can undress. “Go and get the oil, yeah?”

“In a minute.” Harry’s hand brushes against his hip. “Want to watch you.”

“I’m not getting my kit off with you staring at me, Haz,” Louis says, more sharply than he intended.

Harry, startled, goes red, and nearly falls off the bed in his haste to move. “Yeah, yeah, ok, I’m going. Sorry.”

Louis turns away as much as he can and quickly peels off his clothes, throwing them into an untidy pile on the floor. He’s just dragging off his boxers when Harry returns, and Louis flushes and hurriedly hurls them at the pile. He’s about to get himself into position to be fucked when Harry climbs back into bed, straddling his hips and preventing Louis from turning over.

“Sorry,” Harry says again, smiling apologetically. He leans forward, a brush of lips against Louis’ collarbone. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“You didn’t make me angry,” Louis manages. Harry is hard, his cock right _there_ against Louis’, and he looms over Louis, his hands on Louis’ hips. From this angle he looks huge and unforgiving and Louis has to fight not to close his eyes. “Blow the candle out,” he mumbles.

Harry frowns. “It’s ok. I want to see you.”

Louis bucks his hips up. It’s an instinctive movement, something he doesn’t really have control over. Harry, of course, doesn’t move: Louis has no real leverage and Harry is a solid weight on his thighs.

Harry smiles, running a finger along the crease of Louis’ thigh. “You like that, don’t you?” he says. “I like it too. I like to look at you.” The finger edges closer to Louis’ cock. “You’re so amazing. I want to make you feel good all the time. You deserve to feel good all the time.”

It feels like Harry’s weight is on his chest and not his thighs; he’s drowning under the bulk of him. Louis gasps for breath and bucks his hips again but Harry only smiles more.

“You have no idea how good you look, Lou. I know, like, how it started with us was shit, but it’s so good that it’s not like that any more. And if things are tough now I know it’s going to be ok as long as we have each other.”

His hand encircles the base of Louis’ cock and Louis’ vision whites out for a moment, blood roaring in his ears.

“Let me turn over,” he croaks. “Haz, please, let me.”

Harry’s hand strokes up the length of Louis’ cock. “No, no, I want to do it like this,” he insists. “It’ll be good, Lou. It’ll be so good.”

He leans in, looming over Louis, his hand still determinedly stroking Louis’ cock, and it’s too much, too much, and something in Louis _snaps_ , something that has him pushing at Harry’s chest, shoving him away, hard. Startled and already off balance, Harry tumbles from the bed and onto the floor, landing hard enough to elicit a pained moan.

Louis scrambles back, dragging the blankets to cover himself, cover his nakedness. He’s crying, crying thick, mortified tears, and Harry is staring at him in wide-eyed confusion and dawning horror.

“Louis,” he begins.

“Don’t.” Louis presses himself against the wall, pulling the blankets tighter around him like that will somehow erase what happened, like it will somehow make Harry forget that Louis pissed himself in terror because Harry tried to get him hard. “Please, don’t.”

Harry blinks, and then says, very carefully, “What do you want me to do?”

The sound that comes out of him is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I-I don’t know. Just- just let me clean up. You can fuck me after. Or I, I could blow you.” His voice breaks as he sees the expression that flashes across Harry’s face. “I’ll blow you. You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“Louis, no.” Harry scuttles backwards, away from the bed. He looks stricken. “ _No_.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says desperately. “I’m so, so sorry.” It’s Harry in front of him, he knows it is, but at the same time it’s not, it’s everyone who’s ever touched him with cold words and cruel hands, it’s Caroline’s whispered words twisting sinuously into his head and Simon’s hands around his neck.

There’s no escape from it. As long as he lives, there’ll never be an escape from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again the dubcon parts were hard to write but I really didn't want them to go on with Harry thinking everything was ok when it really, really wasn't. Harry isn't a bad person for not realising what was going on - he was just oblivious and Louis very good at hiding his real feelings. But now Harry does know, and things are going to change between them. Hopefully for the better!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to update - I had some major RL issues that kept me away from writing for a long time.
> 
> Anyway! Lots happens in this chapter, including an ~implied~ major character death. Some references to things that happened in earlier chapters but nothing "onscreen".

Louis’ breath mists in the cold morning air as he climbs out onto the ledge overlooking the yard. He settles himself carefully, bracing his feet for balance on the icy concrete as he raises his arm, takes another deep breath, and lets fly.

He grins to himself. Perfect shot.

Zayn comes jogging into the yard from the street. He gives Louis a thumbs up. Job done. Louis starts making his way back down to street level. The building is only partially collapsed but Louis doesn’t take any chances, careful to stick close to the wall and take each step slowly in case the mildewed wood gives way beneath him. He sighs in relief when he steps out into the yard.

“Perfect shot, man,” Zayn says critically, eyeing the rabbit Louis has speared. “Good job.”

“Not going to cry for the bunny?” Louis says as he crouches down to retrieve his spear. “Can’t believe you even let me do this. Remember that time you shouted at me for throwing a stone at the squirrel?”

“In an ideal world, I don’t want to kill rabbits, no,” Zayn says. “But that was a year ago and in this world I’m fucking hungry.”

Louis laughs. “Good answer.” He’s glad it was a clean shot though. It wasn’t the first few times he tried it and he tries not to think about that.

“Want to try for another one?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, it looks like it’s going to snow again. Let’s get back.” He glances up at the leaden sky and scowls. “Don’t want to get caught out here. Manage to find any firewood?”

“A bit. Nothing good.” Zayn gestures towards the street. “I thought there were loads of parks in London.”

“There were,” Louis points out. They’d found one, the week before: nothing more than the stumps of trees and an ominous mound in the middle of it that neither of them had wanted to go too near. The cold weather has effectively killed off the vegetation anyway.

“Yeah, well, we need to find something. Or find someone we can trade with, because I’m not eating raw meat.”

“I thought you said you were hungry,” Louis needles, and Zayn elbows him.

“Not _that_ hungry. Yet.”

He’s right though, however much Louis doesn’t want to admit it. They ran out of meths for the stove days ago and burning whatever detritus they can scavenge from the ruined buildings isn’t sustainable - not to mention it fills the station with smoke and acrid fumes. The only upside of their renewed scavenging is Louis’ spear - once part of an aluminium window frame, broken off and sharpened to a point.

“We could-” Zayn breaks off.

“No,” Louis says firmly. “We’re not going for the trains again.”

“It’s been weeks,” Zayn says. “They won’t be watching.”

“And if they are? You’ve seen what they can do. We got lucky last time.”

Zayn’s mouth twists. “Yeah, _lucky_.” He hesitates, then says, “There could be other stations.”

“No,” Louis says again. Zayn’s suggestion does make sense but he has no intention of heading south, towards the charnel house they’d have to pass through to go on any further. They could go north, follow the tunnel as far as they can and hope that they find something before the tunnel is blocked or destroyed. Louis thinks about it sometimes. Maybe he’ll have to face it eventually but he’s not ready yet. “Let’s go.”

The yard is at the end of a narrow street, once lined by terraced houses and now mostly lined by rubble. Two bollards still stand at the head of the street, incongruous amidst the devastation. They’ve already searched as much of the rubble as they safely could, in an ultimately futile attempt to find something, anything, that they could make use of and so there’s nothing in the street itself to capture Louis’ attention, but a few metres out of the yard he stops dead, signalling to Zayn to stop too.

“What?”

“Look. Up there.”

Louis prides himself on getting pretty good at working out direction, even when he can’t see the sun for reference, but it’s not easy to get a fix when there are so few landmarks left standing. He’s fairly sure that the thick, dark plume of smoke rising into the air is somewhere to the north, though.

“What the fuck is that? Building on fire?”

“Can’t be. Nothing to burn.” A thought occurs to Louis. “Unless-“

“What?”

“Unless it’s, you know, _outside_.” Louis tries to recall what little geography he knows but his thought process is interrupted by what he at first mistakes for the rumble of distant thunder. “What the-”

“This way.” Zayn grabs his arm, ignoring Louis’ flinch. “Fucking _move_.”

They scramble into the partial shelter of a long-collapsed doorway as the far-away rumble becomes a rapidly-approaching roar loud enough to shake the ground beneath their feet. Louis sticks his fingers in his ears and ducks down as the planes thunder overhead, pressing himself against the masonry as the nightmarish maelstrom of sound and superheated air threatens to pluck him from its meagre protection and hurl him into oblivion.

And then, as quickly as they appeared, the planes are gone. The air is still and the only sound is the frantic pounding of Louis’ heart.

He looks at Zayn. Zayn stares back at him, wide-eyed and ashen.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Planes,” Louis says as they cautiously emerge from their hiding place.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No shit. Glad you told me; I wouldn’t have known otherwise.”

Louis grins. “My pleasure.” He takes a deep breath. He’s still shaking but he can’t fall apart. “So, now they’ve fucked off, shall we get going?” He tries to keep his voice casual but he guesses Zayn isn’t fooled; he knows Louis too well for that.

“Not feeling like investigating?”

Louis glances back at the smoke plume and winces. It’s not dying down. Whatever’s on fire is burning out of control. “No.”

Neither of them feel much like dawdling and they make it back to the station in what feels like minutes but is probably more like an hour. Niall is waiting for them in the ticket hall, and his face lights up when he sees the rabbit.

“Don’t get excited,” Louis says dryly. “It’ll taste like shit.”

Niall pretends to think about it. “Rabbit that tastes like shit, or dust that tastes like dust? Difficult choice.”

An hour later, sat at the top of the steps to the ticket hall, Louis has stopped shaking and he’s prepared to concede that rabbit meat isn’t the worst thing he’s ever tasted. It’s a little charred – a product of Zayn’s determination to over-cook rather than under-cook – and tastes faintly of plastic from the debris they’d been forced to use as firewood, but it’s food. Real food.

“If I ever see powdered eggs again it will be too soon,” Zayn pronounces.

“You ate all yours,” Harry says. Louis has to stop himself looking round in surprise because Harry has been mostly silent lately, especially around Louis, and Louis has almost forgotten what his voice sounds like.

“Got to keep my strength up. Apple a day and all that.”

“What does a rabbit keep away?”

Louis leans over to flick a finger against Niall’s foot. “Fleas.”

“Hey, I don’t have fleas,” Niall says indignantly.

“They love you,” Zayn says, winking at Louis. “Don’t deny it.”

"Flea magnet," Louis needles.

Niall glares. "Fuck off, the both of you."

Louis is aware of Harry watching him but he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead he deliberately turns himself so Harry isn't in his eye-line and addresses Zayn instead.

"Tomorrow, we'll start working out to the east. We haven't really gone beyond that crater in the road. We might pick up something."

Zayn nods. "Think you can take down some more bunnies?"

"You know I can."

They go their separate ways soon after. Niall and Harry go to scavenge fuel for the fire and even if Louis isn't particularly happy about them going outside there's nothing he can say without risking a conversation with Harry so he keeps quiet.

"Be careful," Zayn says for him.

"Yes, mum," Niall says, blowing him a kiss. Zayn rolls his eyes.

"If you hear them planes coming back, hide, understood? Don't let them see you."

"Do our best." Niall tugs at Harry's sleeve. "Come on."

Harry follows Niall, with a last, lingering look at Louis that Louis pretends he hasn't seen as he crouches down and feeds the last of the unidentified material they'd pulled out of a cavity wall to the fire. Zayn pokes around in the box that holds their last few tins of food for a few minutes before coming back to the fire.

"They'll be fine," he says quietly.

"Never said they wouldn't be." Louis concentrates on his breathing: in and out, nice and steady.

Zayn makes a non-committal sound and sits down, wincing a little.

"You ok?"

"Banged up my knee when the planes went over." Zayn glares at the offending knee.

"You cleaned it up?"

"Didn't break the skin." Zayn gives him a quick, reassuring smile. "Just bruised."

"Ok." Louis sits back on his heels and stares into the flames and tries to tell himself it is ok: Zayn's injury is nothing serious.

But next time, it could be. Next time it could be one of them with a broken ankle or a broken leg or blood poisoning or something they've picked up outside and there's nothing they can do. They have no medicine, no medical knowledge between them apart from the very specialised knowledge they'd learnt in the house, and they're all malnourished and, whether Louis likes it or not, weakened. It’s nagging at Louis, a constant worry he can’t shake off.

“The planes,” Zayn begins, and then stops.

“What about them?”

Zayn scrubs a hand across his stubble, frowning. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking it too. Something’s going on. Something bad.”

“You mean, more bad than usual?”

“You know what I mean.” Zayn’s frown deepens. “It’s about more than us, isn’t it?”

“Maybe they were looking for us.” Louis fiddles with the hem of his shirt. He’s caught it on something; a thread is pulling loose.

“Yeah, no. What are they going to see going at that speed? If they were looking for us it’d be a helicopter.” Zayn snorts suddenly. “And I don’t think we’re worth _that_ much.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“The planes, whatever the fuck they were blowing up,” Zayn continues as if Louis hasn’t spoken. “The trains are getting delayed all the time; they’re late every day. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Yes,” Louis says. “I’ve noticed. So what’s your big theory?”

Zayn sighs, frustrated. “I don’t have one. I don’t know. I just think something’s happening and I don’t think it’s good. But I don’t _know_. You know how it was in the house. What we got to see was fuck all. We don’t know what’s been going on out here.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. It had never bothered him, not really. They’d been allowed to watch the occasional pre-vetted news report, given games and DVDs - again, carefully vetted - and mostly allowed to amuse themselves however they liked when they weren’t needed for anything else. But it hadn’t been freedom, not by any definition. They’d lived in a comfortable cocoon, insulated from the harsh reality of the outside world. “Have you asked Harry? He must know more than we do. He lived outside for longer. Maybe he has some ideas.”

Zayn snorts, less amused this time. “Seriously? We’ve hardly seen Harry, and when we do he says about as much to us as he has been to you.”

“Right.” Louis picks at the loose thread again.

“You could ask him,” Zayn suggests.

“How about no.”

“Louis…”

“Listen to my words: no. Not happening.”

“So what, you’re going to blank him for the rest of your life?” Zayn asks. “I know it-”

“You know _nothing_ , ok?” Louis snaps. “You fucking don’t know what happened, so drop it.” Except that it’s so far from the truth it might as well be on another planet, because it had been Zayn Harry had run to fetch that night things had gone so disastrously wrong between them, Zayn who had taken one look at Louis and sent Harry away, Zayn who had cleaned Louis up and wrapped him in a clean blanket and stayed with him in silent support until the shivering had stopped.

And it’s Zayn who says nothing now, just bumps his foot gently against Louis’ foot before getting to his feet. “I’ll talk to him, if I can” is all he says.

***

There are no trains at all the next day. The station is eerily quiet without the periodic rumbling from the tunnels below and everyone speaks in lowered voices, as if unwilling to break the hush. Louis takes Niall hunting in the afternoon, telling Zayn to rest his knee. He hopes that it will give Zayn a chance to speak to Harry undisturbed but when they get back Zayn reports that Harry is nowhere to be found.

“He’ll be fine,” Niall says, still buzzing from Louis letting him take part in the hunt. “He has little hiding holes all over the place.”

“Well, go and see if you can flush him out of the hiding hole he’s in today,” Zayn tells him. He eyes their catch of the day. “Squirrel?”

“Best we could do.” Louis puts it down. “There’s more stuff on fire.”

“The same place?”

“Yeah, but more of it today.” They hadn’t seen any planes though. Louis is grateful for that. “We should go and look, maybe tomorrow.”

Zayn gives him a disbelieving look. “You want to go and _look_?”

“Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that?”

Louis skins the squirrel and lets Niall set the pathetically stringy strips of meat over the fire to cook. Once he’s content with his efforts, Niall disappears to find Harry and Louis goes to wash his hands.

He’s standing in his room, his hands immersed in a container of ice-cold water, when he hears it, a hollow-sounding thud that reverberates in the walls and rattles his bones.

“What the fu-”

The door crashes open, nearly flying off its rusty hinges as it rebounds off the wall, adding another dent to the collection that already mars the thin metal. Louis instinctively reaches for something to use as a weapon but there's nothing except an empty can he's been using as a cup. He's about to snatch it up when his brain finally catches up with what his eyes are seeing.

"Harry, what the fuck is-"

"No time," Harry gasps, wheezing like he's just run a marathon. Another thud shakes the room.

His face is streaked with dirt and dust and realisation hits Louis all at once: Harry's been down on the platform, maybe even in the tunnel, and he's run all the way up the stairs. He opens his mouth to berate Harry for being somewhere he shouldn’t have been, somewhere Louis specifically told him not to go, but Harry crosses the room in two steps and seizes Louis by the arm before Louis can say a word.

"We have to go," Harry says breathlessly.

The light isn't great but Louis can see enough of Harry's face to see the tension, the fear. He nods, biting back his questions for now. "What do I need?"

"Nothing. No time. Come on."

They run to the ticket hall, and all the time Louis can hear the same thumping noise from down below, over and over again, and he doesn't know what it is but his imagination can conjure up plenty of possibilities. Zayn is sitting by the fire when they come in, but he gets to his feet the moment he sees them. Going by the alarm on his face, Louis can only imagine what they look like.

"What's going on?" he demands.

"People," Harry wheezes as Louis grabs for his spear. "Down there."

"Soldiers?"

"N-no." Harry drops forward, hunching in on himself as he pulls in air.

Louis hesitates. Logic is telling him what he needs to do, but right now the logical part of his brain is a bystander, helpless to direct his body, subsumed by primeval terror and every horror his imagination can come up with, every nightmare he's had lately. It’s the same dream every time: an army of the dead, come for revenge against their murderers - their real murderers, the ones responsible for setting the soldiers on them and then looting their remains. Sightless eyes in the darkness, cold hands reaching out-

-Louis squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. _Idiot_ , he tells himself. No time for nightmares now. "We need to get out of here," he says.

"No shit." Zayn is already collecting up what he can easily carry. There isn't much. "You ok?" he says to Harry.

"Yeah," Harry says, getting shakily to his feet. He sways a little, the result, Louis thinks, of hyperventilating more than anything else. "Yeah, let's go."

"Grab some stuff then, quick," Louis tells him. "Whatever you can carry. Not enough to slow you down. Just what you think we might need.” And then another realisation dawns on him. "Fuck, where's Niall?"

Zayn looks at him, stricken. "He went looking for Harry. Fuck."

A tense silence settles over them, broken by Harry's small, "Sorry."

“ _Not_ your fault,” Louis says. “Ok, we’ll find him. He can’t have gone down to the platform, right? You’d have seen him.”

His educated guess about Harry’s location is proved correct when Harry nods. “Yeah- no. I didn’t see him.”

“Ok, so he’s somewhere else in the station and we’ll find him. You stay here-”

“No,” Harry says at once.

“-in case he comes back.”

“I’m not staying here,” Harry protests. “It’s my fault, he went looking for me.”

“I’ll stay here,” Zayn says before Louis can say anything. “He’s not going to be far, is he? You can get down there, have a look around, and be back in no time. Just get moving, yeah?”

Louis hesitates for the briefest of moments and then he nods. Zayn’s plan does make sense. “Ok. Harry, you come with me. Zayn, pack up whatever you can. If we’re heading up topside we don’t know how long we’re going to be up there.”

Or whether they’ll be forced to find somewhere else to live goes unsaid.

"You think it's a good idea for us to split up?" Harry asks as they make their way down from the ticket hall. "Maybe we should stick together."

"We need to find Niall," Louis points out. "Who are these people you saw?"

"I told you, I don't know. Not soldiers. People."

They’re checking the side rooms as they go but there is no sign of Niall. The noise from down below is getting louder and louder and it seems to be getting warmer as they move through the passageways, although Louis isn't sure whether that’s his imagination or not.

"We'd know if they were soldiers," Harry continues.

"How's that?"

"They'd have killed us already."

Louis gives him a disbelieving look. "Thanks for that."

They've reached the top of the stairs and, even though he knows they have to go on, Louis still hesitates. Descending into that claustrophobic darkness means going towards whatever it is that’s invading the station when every instinct is screaming at him to run far, far away.

"They could be friendly," Harry says unconvincingly.

"Right," Louis says. "Unlikely."

“You think Niall is down there? I didn’t see him.”

“You must have just missed each other.”

Louis takes a deep breath and sets off down the steps, Harry close behind him.

It is probably the worst time possible to think about the conversation he'd had with Zayn, the worst time to replay Zayn's doubts about Harry, but Louis can't help it. It would be so easy to end it, he thinks, like this. One hard shove to the back and he'd go tumbling down the stairs with no hope of saving himself. If he didn't break his neck in the fall he'd surely break a leg at least, and no one would come to his rescue. No witnesses, no one to contradict Harry's version of events if there was anyone left alive to ask. Louis bites his lip, fighting down the urge to look back at Harry, to brace himself against the threat.

"I don't remember it being this far down," Harry says. There’s no point in him speaking quietly now; the thudding noise is loud enough to drown out anything.

"Didn't you already run up here once?"

Whatever Harry says in response is lost to another, louder thud from below, and then something else; a strange, sibilant sound that is rapidly getting louder. Louis stops, frozen.

"What the fuck is that?" It’s said more to himself than to Harry. “It sounds like-”

- _water_ , his brain supplies, and it’s like a switch has been thrown because he can move again, arms and legs jerking into action. He grabs Harry’s arm and half-pushes, half-drags him back up the stairs, but it’s not fast enough as the hissing sound become a roar behind them.

“Hold on!” he yells, and he throws himself down, half on top of Harry, feet braced against the wall and fingers scrabbling for grip on the smooth steps as the torrent reaches them, not so much a wave of water as a vicious maelstrom of freezing water and dirt and debris that whips around their entwined bodies and threatens to drag them both down into its depths. Louis feels his fingers slipping; his leg gives way and he starts to slide down the steps for a second before he manages to get a grip again. He feels Harry’s hand clamp down on his wrist and he wants to tell him to let go but there’s no breath left in his lungs and all he can do is hang on and hope and pray.

He has no reference, no sense of how long they’re submerged, but little by little the whirling vortex subsides and the water starts to recede, inch by inch. Louis presses his head against Harry’s shoulder in the darkness and takes a shuddering breath. Harry is shivering, his wheezing breaths loud in the sudden silence. Whatever was making the thudding sound has stopped.

“Are you ok?”

Harry nods, clutching at Louis’ arm as if for comfort. “Are, are you?”

“I think so.” His fingers are scraped raw and his legs ache like he’s run a marathon but he’s alive. Louis will take that.

“What happened?”

“I have no idea.” Louis’ teeth start to chatter. His sodden clothes are chilling him to the bone. “Something not good.” He’s about to say more when he hears a shout, somewhere above them. Not Zayn, and not Niall either. “Shit.”

“They’re in the station,” Harry says numbly.

“Yeah.”

“They _flooded_ the station.”

“Yeah.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Go up and talk to them?” Louis’ hand clamps down on Harry’s wrist, just in case Harry thinks he’s being serious, but Harry isn’t showing any signs of moving. “We- we need to get of here.”

“Down?” Harry asks.

“Down.”

They have to take it slowly, feeling their way down the steps in the darkness. Harry doesn’t ask about the others, and Louis doesn’t bother saying anything. He trusts Zayn to get himself out of the station, and if he’s right about where Niall went they should bump into him sooner or later anyway. Unless he’s fallen victim to the tidal wave of water that nearly claimed them, but Louis isn’t going to think about that.

“Where did all the water come from?” He means it as a rhetorical question, but Harry - to his surprise - answers.

“There was a canal, once. I think. Not far away from here. Maybe the water was stored up somewhere.”

“Right.” Louis rubs his hands together, trying to get some warmth into them. The cuts and abrasions are really starting to sting now. “That doesn’t explain how it got in _here_.”

He knows though. The air is full of a sharp, pungent smell, like bleach. One of his regulars at the house had been an army officer, promoted to high rank through family connections rather than talent and very proud of his limited active service as a result. He’d told Louis all about explosives, in between beating him with a riding crop.

Harry doesn’t say anything. Louis hears more shouting from above, although it doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. Louis hopes that Zayn is out of the station, hiding out somewhere safe. He grimaces to himself, glad that Harry can’t see his expression: out of all of them, Zayn is probably the one with the best chance.

They both freeze when they hear a soft sound ahead of and below them, an unmistakably human cough. There’s nothing but silence afterwards and Louis throws caution to the wind and says, very quietly:

“Niall?”

There’s a second of silence and then what sounds like a half-sob of relief.

“Jesus, I thought I was gonna die alone down here.”

“Niall!” Harry exclaims, stumbling over himself as he tries to move forward. Louis manages to catch hold of his arm just in time.

“Where’s Zayn?”

“Up top,” Louis tells him. “He was going out that way. Are you ok?” He reaches out and finds Niall’s arm, cold to the touch but it’s him; he’s alive.

“Freezing cold. What the fuck happened?”

“We don’t know. There are people in the station-”

“I know who they are,” Niall interrupts. “No fucking secret there. Heard them down here, got a good look at them too, before the lights went out.”

“And?” Louis asks, dread coiling in his stomach.

“That fucker Jake. Some others, four or five I haven’t seen before. Two, maybe three I recognised.”

“They died.” Louis’ voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. “They all died. You only saw them once, Niall. Maybe they just look like them.”

“Either they’re fucking zombies or some of them survived,” Niall says doggedly. “Because I’m telling you, it’s them. They’ve found some friends and they know or they guessed we had something to do with the soldiers coming and this is revenge time and if they find us they’re gonna gut us like fish.”

“Still-”

“We didn’t actually _see_ all of them,” Harry says quietly, cutting Louis off mid-protest. “We can’t be sure. And there were … bits.”

“Their own mothers wouldn’t have recognised some of them.” Louis rubs at his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling nauseated at the memory. “Fuck. They’re going to come looking, when they don’t find us up there.”

“What are we going to do?”

And it’s Harry’s simple trust in him, his expectation that Louis has a plan to get them out of this, that snaps Louis out of the terror-fuelled inertia that has him in its thrall. He takes a deep breath and tries to marshal his thoughts.

“Right,” he says with an authority he doesn’t feel. “Well, we can’t go back up. They’ll catch us for sure.”

“Agreed,” Niall says.

“And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to head south.”

“Towards the scene of the crime? Not really.”

“So we head north. We’ll walk to the next station, and we’ll get out that way.”

It’s one of the hardest things Louis has ever done. The station may not be much but it’s been their home and their sanctuary and now they’re crawling away into the darkness with no food, no bedding, none of the things they’d managed to barter or scavenge that would make their lives easier. They have nothing except the clothes they’re wearing.

They scramble down onto the track bed by touch alone, staying close together. There’s a moment, just as they leave the station behind and move into the northbound tunnel itself, when Louis thinks about just hiding out where they are, waiting for the storm to pass them by, but he hears a metallic crack from above, and the shouting getting louder, closer, and he knows they can’t stay.

“Come on,” he tells the others, and he leads them away.

***

They never make it to the next station. It’s hard to have any sense of distance without visual reference points but Louis estimates it’s less than three hundred yards before they come to a wall of rubble that blocks the path ahead. They search over it carefully by touch, trying to find a way through, until finally Harry huffs a laugh and tugs on Louis’ arm.

“Look up,” he says.

Louis looks up, and sees the stars.

The climb up the mountain of rubble to the surface is tortuous - more than once they have to stop and negotiate their way around unstable parts of the collapsed floors - and by the time they get to the top they’re all exhausted. They collapse in an ungainly, wheezing pile on the edge of the pit they’ve emerged from and try to catch their breath.

“Remind me,” Niall gasps. “Never to do that again.”

Louis nods, staring blankly at the sky. It’s a clear night, clearer than he can remember since they arrived in London. His eyes trace the constellations above; it’s beautiful, but as the adrenaline and the thrill of survival wear off and the sweat of the climb dries on his skin he’s starting to get cold again and the reality of the situation is sinking in.

“Do you think we’re safe?” Harry asks. His voice is unsteady and his breath rattles in his throat. Instinctively Louis reaches over and squeezes his hand.

“We’re ok,” he tells him.

Harry squeezes back.

“How are we going to find Zayn?” Niall asks.

Louis pushes himself to a sitting position and looks around. As far as he can see, they’re in what must have been once some sort of garden. He thinks he recognises the abandoned shop across the street. He can still hear the undulating rumble of the planes, like thunder rolling across the ruins of the city.

“We had a plan, ages ago,” he says. “Somewhere we could meet, if everything went tits up. We’ll go there.”

“What if he’s not there?”

“Then we’ll deal with it then, Niall,” Louis snaps. He gets to his feet, wincing. Every muscle aches.

Harry makes a soft, pained sound as he gets up and Louis has to look away as Niall hugs him.

“I’m glad you’re ok,” Harry tells him. “You shouldn’t have gone looking for me.”

“Twat,” Niall says amiably. “Shouldn’t go wandering off alone, should you?”

“Are we finished with the sentimental moment?” Louis takes a step towards the street. “We need to find Zayn.” He’s hoping Zayn has at least some of their supplies with him, or things are going to be really tough.

“What’s that glow over there?” Harry asks.

“Something on fire again. Don’t worry about it,” Louis says curtly. It looks like more than one fire this time, and Louis wonders what's so important out there. Whether there are people there, fleeing from the flames, or whether it's nothing more than wasteland. He forces himself to look away, telling himself there’s no point thinking about it. Even if there are people out there, it’s no concern of theirs. They have enough problems of their own.

He does recognise the street they're on, and once he has a handle on that it's easy to orientate himself on his mental map. They haven't come too far from the station and that makes him uneasy; he doesn't think their attackers would search for them on the surface but he wants to meet up with Zayn and find somewhere else to live as soon as possible - before dawn, if they can. He likes the idea of spending one day, at least, hiding out, giving them all a chance to rest and recover as best they can, if they can find somewhere safe with access to water.

Except it doesn’t work out that way, because when they get to the rendezvous point there’s no sign of Zayn. Louis searches around in case Zayn left them some sort of sign or warning but there’s no indication he’s been here at all. The streets around seem deserted and quiet. Louis scowls at the walls of the florist shop they’re hiding in as if they personally offend him and tries to think what to do next.

“What do we do now?” Niall asks. He’s hunkered down in the far corner, away from the hole in the wall that was once a display window. Harry crouches next to him, expression unreadable in the darkness.

“We’ll wait for a bit,” Louis says. “But we need to find him. You two wait here … I’m going to check out the station.”

Harry makes an abortive move towards him. “Louis-”

“Stay here with Niall,” Louis tells him curtly. “I’ll be back in a bit; there’s less chance of being seen if it’s just me. You two lie low and stay out of sight unless you’re sure it’s Zayn or me, right?”

Harry nods, which Louis hopes means he's going to do what he's told. Louis gives him a reassuring smile and ducks away, moving as fast as he dares and sticking close to the walls of the buildings once he’s out onto the street. The streets are empty but they're not quiet; Louis isn't sure but the planes seem closer now, circling like vultures overhead. Louis shivers.

He doesn't really want to get too close to the station but as time passes and he finds no trace of Zayn it becomes increasingly inevitable. He drops to a half-crouch, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as he approaches. The temperature has dropped since the afternoon and ice crunches under his feet however quietly he tries to walk.

"That," Zayn remarks from his perch on top of the roof of a listing bus shelter, "does not work well."

"Fuck!" Louis glares up at him. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He can hear the smile in Zayn's voice as he climbs down. "Just wanted to hear you scream."

"Good thing I didn't," Louis snaps. "The whole point is trying to be low-key. What are you doing here, anyway? This isn't where we arranged to meet up."

Zayn, for the first time, seems uneasy. He tugs at his shirt, and Louis realises that the other boy isn't carrying anything. He looks around. There's no sign of supplies, of anything Zayn might have brought out of the station.

"I was hoping you wouldn't come looking for me," Zayn says. “Not until dawn, at least.”

“’Course I came looking for you. What's going on?” Louis looks around again. “Where's our stuff?"

Zayn looks down. His voice, when he speaks, is very soft. "Niall; he's safe, yeah?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, he's safe. Him and Harry.” Louis reaches out for him but Zayn steps back, out of reach. "Zayn, what the fuck is going on?"

"Nothing," Zayn says. He takes another step back. "Go, Louis. Go now. Keep them safe, yeah?”

"Go where? What the fuck-"

" _Go!_ " Zayn yells. He steps back again, stumbling over his own feet, and as he does Louis sees the wire wrapped around his wrist glint in the moonlight, and he _knows_. He lunges for Zayn but the other boy is already moving, an ungainly run straight towards the collapsed entrance to the station and the shadows that aren't shadows waiting in the entranceway. Louis half-sobs as he falls awkwardly on one knee, jarring his hand and arm as he tries to break his fall. He hears a shout, and then a thud, and he tries to stand but his knee collapses under him just as the world goes white.

***

“…Move him a bit further…”

“No way; you’ll hurt him.”

“Get hold of his arms, like this.”

Louis groans and tries to bat away the hands encircling his biceps, only everything feels like his bones have been replaced with cotton wool and he ends up mostly just flapping his hands ineffectually. The hands holding him release their hold, though. Louis sighs in relief and settles back.

“He’s awake!” someone says, and Louis _knows_ that voice.

“No,” he croaks. His throat is so dry it hurts to speak, his head hurts, and his lungs ache. “I- I’m dead.”

“You’re not dead.”

_Harry._ Louis fumbles for him, and Harry catches his hand and enfolds it in his own, squeezing so tightly it hurts. But it’s a good pain, a pain that anchors him and stills the fluttering in his chest.

“Get him some water,” he hears Harry say.

“Why can’t I see?” he rasps.

He senses Harry leaning in, feels his breath on his cheek. “Your eyes are closed,” Harry says softly, and he kisses Louis’ closed eyelids, one after the other.

“Oh.” Louis debates trying to open his eyes but it’s far too much effort and Harry is _right there_ , pulling him in close. Louis sighs in contentment as he settles against the warmth of Harry’s body. “What happened?”

He feels the tension in Harry’s body. “The station blew up,” Harry says after a brief delay.

“Blew-“

“Up. Yeah. I mean, we don’t know how bad it was but there was a bang and by the time we got there it was all over … the whole ticket hall fell in on itself and it’s just rubble now. We had a look round but we couldn’t see a way in. We found you knocked out. The bus shelter fell on you.”

Louis starts to laugh but it turns to a cough, a violent hacking cough that seems to be bringing half his lungs up. Harry hugs him tighter, holding him until the coughing fit eases.

“There’s only this much water.” Louis turns his head, recognising Niall’s voice. He opens his mouth as he feels a plastic cup being pressed against his lips.

“That’ll do for now,” Harry says. “We can get more. Let him have it.”

Louis gratefully gulps down mouthfuls of the brackish water. A few months ago he would never have touched it but right now it’s better than champagne, restoring him with every sip. Restoring his memories too.

“Zayn,” he gasps when Niall finally takes the cup away. “Did you find Zayn? He was there, at the station. He-” _He sacrificed himself for us_.

Neither of the others say anything, which gives Louis the answer he’d been dreading.

“We looked,” Harry says eventually. “We looked so hard, Louis. We- we found a bit of his shirt in the rubble. I-”

Louis refuses to listen to any more. He turns his head, hiding his face in Harry’s shirt so they won’t see him cry.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis, Harry, and Niall find a new sanctuary, but is it as safe as it seems?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are a little bit calmer in this chapter after everything that happened last time around, but please note that there is some non-graphic coerced sex (OMC/Louis).

His foot slips on the wet concrete and Louis grunts in pain as he catches himself and the jolt jars his still-aching knee. Harry reaches for him to help but Louis shakes his head. _I’m all right_. Harry backs off.

They haven’t spoken since they climbed down a rickety ladder hidden behind a nondescript grille set into the wall of a building, driven by nothing more than the word of a girl Louis had met once and something that is stronger than the sick numbness Louis feels at the loss of Zayn - the only thing that is keeping him from curling up on the ground and waiting to die. 

“Keep an eye out,” he says. “We don’t want anything creeping up on us.”

Niall, at the back, snorts. “You think I can hear anything over the water?”

Louis has to concede he has a point. The tunnel they’re in is less than three metres wide, a gulley in the middle of it carrying what he assumes is the river Summer spoke of, although it doesn’t look much like a river to Louis. The water is flowing fast, tumbling over debris, but the tunnel also leaks, and mini waterfalls of rainwater cascade down the walls from the world above. After what happened in the station, Louis can’t help but feel uneasy about that. The only saving grace about the damage is the light that filters through cracks in the concrete; without it they’d be blind, forced to crawl on their hands and knees.

“There’s nothing down here,” Harry says.

“We don’t know that.” Louis squints ahead; the tunnel seems to be descending but it’s hard to be sure. “I want some warning.”

Not that they could put up that much of a fight, he thinks darkly. He doesn’t need to look back to know how exhausted Niall and Harry are. They’re all cold and shivering and hungry; Louis feels sick and dizzy and he knows he’s concussed. They all desperately need food and sleep, but there’s nowhere to get either. If anyone attacked them now it would be the shortest, easiest fight in history.

“Do you trust that girl?” Harry asks quietly.

“No,” Louis admits. He steps around a knotted ball of debris he tries not to look too closely at; he’s fairly sure he can see bone in there and he doesn’t want to know if it’s human or animal. “But we’re out of options.”

He’d considered, briefly, walking north, following the streets just to see how far they could get. Maybe follow the line of the  underground railway, find a station left intact, set up again and try to exist. He’d even led them that way to begin with, up a street where nearly every building was reduced to rubble.

He’s not even sure what caused him to change his mind.

“Well,” Niall says with forced cheer. “At least it’s warmer down here.”

“It’s fucking freezing,” Harry objects.

“Yeah, but it’s not sleeting down. And that means it’s better.”

Louis has no idea how far they’ve come. The fire in his knee gets worse with every step but at least he can work with the pain, use it to keep himself focused. One step. Two. One more.

“What is this, anyway? A drain?”

“She said it was a river. The Fleet.”

“Doesn’t much look like a river to me,” Niall says critically.

“London has lots of them,” Harry says. “Buried rivers. I read that.”

“Nice for you,” Louis says acerbically. 

“It empties into the Thames, eventually.”

“Are you suggesting we go swimming? Float away down the river?”

“Hope not,” Niall grumbles. “I’m cold enough now.”

“We could find a boat,” Harry persists. 

“Find a boat,” Louis says flatly. “You mean steal a boat, right? It’s not like we could _buy_ one.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Right. And how far do you think we’d get before someone saw us and wondered what the fuck we were doing floating around in the Thames?”

Harry doesn’t say anything but Louis can _feel_ the hurt radiating off him and he hates it, hates himself, hates the situation they’re in and everything that’s gone wrong between them. The weight of responsibility bears down on him as it always does, but without Zayn at his side he feels it all the more keenly.

“We’ll see, ok?” he mutters.

Their pace slows as the tunnel angles down and they have to climb over collapsed sections of walling, holding on to each other as they clamber over the slippery rubble. The deeper they go the less light filters in from above and Louis is getting worried about that: they don’t have a torch or even matches and without light they’ll have to crawl, slowing them down even further. 

“Do you think they’re all dead, Jake and that lot?” Niall asks suddenly. “They’re not going to come after us?”

“Doesn’t matter if they are or not,” Harry says, before Louis can speak. “It would take them forever to dig themselves out of the station.”

“And they don’t know about you two anyway,” Louis adds. “They wouldn’t waste time coming after me.” 

There’s silence for a while, broken only by the sound of their footsteps, before Niall pipes up again.

“Do you think we could eat that stuff on the walls?”

“No,” Louis says firmly. He’s trying very hard not to think about food, and he _really_ doesn’t need the reminder that the moss growing up the walls of the tunnel might be the only thing they find to eat. They’ve seen a few rats, but even if he had his spear they don’t have anything to cook with and he’s not quite at the point of wanting to eat raw rat. 

“We’ll find something,” Harry says. “When we get out of here.”

“The light at the end of the tunnel,” Louis says, something like hysteria bubbling up in his chest.

“I think there _is_ a light,” Harry says, almost apologetically.

Louis is about to tell him he’s being ridiculous, but then he takes another look and realises Harry is right. Ahead of them, the tunnel takes another sharp descent but in the distance, in the darkness, is a neat square of light. Artificial light.

“What is it?”

“No idea.” Louis looks around but there’s nothing that could conceivably be used as a weapon. “She did say there’d be someone to show us the way though. Maybe this is what she meant.”

“ _Someone_ ,” Niall says dubiously. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t think we’re in a position to be choosy about that, Niall.”

Louis keeps his eyes fixed on the square of light as they get closer, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the steady pain in his knee. The tunnel gets darker the nearer they get, the slivers of daylight filtering down less frequent, but there’s enough light for him to see that the path immediately ahead is blocked by a wooden door, while the river itself falls away under a ledge to another, deeper tunnel. A glazed panel set into the door is the source of the light, but as far as Louis can see all that lies behind it is an empty chamber.

“What do we do now?” Harry says. “Knock?”

“Why not?” Louis brings his hand up and raps sharply on the door. The sound is shockingly loud, echoing the length of the tunnel.

“Is it locked?” Niall asks.

Louis pushes at the door. “I think so.” He looks it over but there’s no handle, no doorknob or latch he could use to open it. “Looks like you have to open it from the other side.” He knocks again, more forcefully this time. Before he can even drop his hand the door abruptly opens and a mountain of a man is looming over them, the gun in his hand pointing straight at Louis’ face.

“Who the fuck are you?” he growls. 

“Friends,” Louis squeaks. He risks glancing up from the muzzle of the gun to the man’s face and instantly regrets it. He doesn’t think this man _has_ friends.

“Try again.”

“Summer sent us,” Louis says. He stumbles over her name a little in his nervousness.

“Why?” The man’s other hand comes up, gripping Louis’ jaw and turning his face into the light. “Never mind; I know why.” His fingers rest against Louis’ neck, brushing over the faint mark where his collar had once rubbed. “Run away, have you?”

“Maybe.” Flushing, Louis pulls out of the man’s grip. To his surprise, the man lets him go. “None of your business if we have.”

The man chuckles. “Yet here you are, knocking at my door like the little lost strays you are.” He lowers the gun and rubs a hand over his hairless scalp. “Come in, little rooster. I won’t hurt you.”

Outraged, Louis opens his mouth to tell the man exactly what he thinks of _little rooster_ but Harry beats him to the punch.

“Do you have any food? W-we can’t pay you or anything but, um, we could do stuff?” He trails off, perhaps realising what he’s just implied.

“Stuff,” the man says, sounding amused rather than interested, to Louis’ relief. “Yes, yes, there’s food. I’ve enough to share without needing payment. Come in before this one falls down.”

Harry’s hand in the small of his back is a comforting pressure, something that grounds Louis and stops him saying something he might regret. Still disgruntled, Louis steps past the man into the chamber beyond.

“Yes, that’s it,” the man says. “Through the arch, there. Let me lock the door; we don’t want sewer rats coming in, do we?”

Louis flinches when he hears the lock turning. He knows it’s silly - if the man wanted them dead he could have shot them already - but he feels suddenly vulnerable now their escape route has been blocked off. But the others are looking to him, so he pulls himself up straight and marches through the arch as directed into another, larger chamber. 

He’s not sure what he expected to find; certainly not something as homely as this. A fireplace has been cut into one wall, and a pot is suspended over the fire on a metal frame. Whatever is bubbling away in the pot smells delicious. On either side of the fireplace shelves have been cut into the wall and these hold familiar-looking tins, neatly arranged by the type of food they contain. The rest of the room is given over to an aluminium picnic table and chairs, and a stack of metal crates. Two doors are set into the far wall. Light comes from a single unshaded bulb; Louis realises with some surprise that this is the first electric light he’s seen since they last raided the trains.

“How many is he cooking for?” Niall asks, inspecting the contents of the pot.

The man laughs as he follows them into the room.

“Just me. You think I got like this eating lettuce? Plenty to share though, never fear.” 

Louis watches him put the gun in one of the crates, and lock it with a padlock. The key goes around his neck on a length of string. Louis doesn’t know what he plans to do with the information but it doesn’t hurt, he thinks, to stay alert. Especially since the others seem all too ready to trust their new friend.

“I’m Niall,” Niall says, making himself comfortable on one of the chairs. “This is Harry; that’s Louis.”

“Hi,” Harry says. He’s standing awkwardly next to the table as if he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Arki,” the man grunts. He goes to another crate and pulls out four plastic bowls and spoons. “Hope you’re all hungry.”

“Oh yeah,” Niall says enthusiastically.

“Can- can we do anything?” Harry asks. Louis wants to slap him.

Arki laughs. “House-trained, aren’t you?” He pats Harry’s cheek when Harry blushes and Louis wants to slap _him_. “No, you sit yourself down there. No need for you to wait on anyone. We don’t stand on manners here.” He glances over at Louis. “You too. Or don’t you trust me yet?”

“You pointed a gun at me,” Louis points out as Harry takes a seat next to Niall.

“True,” Arki agrees. “Good boy. It doesn’t pay to trust anyone easily.”

“Why should we trust you then?”

Arki eyes him speculatively as he ladles what looks like stew out of the cooking pot and into the first of the bowls. “Maybe you shouldn’t. But I could have killed you already and thrown your bodies in the Fleet, so there’s that. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t feed you first. Here.” He hands the first bowl to Niall. “Get started on that; you look hungry.”

“I am,” Niall says fervently. He glances over at Louis and Louis gives in: he nods. Niall grins and starts eating.

“Good boy,” Arki says approvingly. He hands a second bowl to Harry. “Now,” he says, looking back at Louis. “What about you?”

Louis reluctantly crosses the room and sits down next to Harry, accepting the bowl that’s handed to him. Part of him wants to refuse it, but he’s so, _so_ hungry and cold and tired. If he’s going to die, he thinks, at least he can do so on a full stomach. And if Arki wants something else … well, it won’t be anything Louis hasn’t done before. 

“Do you live down here?” Harry asks in between spooning the stew into his mouth. “This is really good stew.”

“I do.” Arki takes his own seat at the table, in between Louis and Niall. “I’m a man of simple tastes.” He waves a hand to encompass the room they’re in. “As you can see.”

“Are there others down here?” Louis asks. He tastes the stew; it’s just as delicious as it smells. “We met Summer, and some others. Does she live-”

“With me? No.” Arki pushes his chair back and stands up. “Where are my manners? Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water?” Niall says hopefully.

Arki looks momentarily taken aback. “Rainwater? No, not down here. Nasty stuff. Try this instead.” He retrieves a corked earthenware bottle from a crate and four plastic cups. “Beer. Home made. Put hairs on your chest.”

“Do I _want_ hairs on my chest?” Niall says dubiously, but he accepts a cup from Arki and, after a glance at Louis for approval, sips at its contents. Louis thinks it looks like piss - but Niall thinks about it briefly and nods, grinning at him. “It’s ok.”

“Of course it’s ok.” Arki passes cups over to Harry and Louis. Louis takes his and sniffs warily. It doesn’t smell like the beer he’s drunk before.

“How strong is it?”

“Strong enough.” Arki winks. “Strong enough to keep the cold out. But not so strong that you have to fear me taking advantage, little rooster.”

“Don’t call me that.” Louis sips at his cup and pulls a face. It doesn’t much taste like the beer he’s drunk before either. “Where does Summer live then?”

Arki takes a long swig of his own beer. “Where we are now, it’s part of an old pumping station, for the water system that once existed here. It drained into the Fleet; that’s why the river runs underneath us here. It’s a rabbit warren. Plenty of room for those of us who need somewhere to live. And for those of us who need to come and go without going through the checkpoints above.” He gestures towards the ceiling. “Up there, almost exactly above us, is a checkpoint. Manned day and night. What do you think the guards on it would say if they knew that I come and go through the river gate whenever I like?” He chuckles to himself, evidently amused at the thought.

“How do you know they don’t know?” Harry asks.

“Ah, good question.” Arki pauses to refill his own and Niall’s cup. “I see the lack of soldiers tramping through my home and that’s enough proof for me that, for now, they don’t know. They are not known for being forgiving of such things; their masters would never let them be.”

“Who is allowed through the checkpoints, then?” Louis asks.

Arki raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know?” His eyes flicker to Louis’ neck. “Ah. Of course. Too young to ever know how it works out here in the world.”

“I lived in the world,” Harry interjects. “ _I_ don’t know.”

Louis can’t interpret the expression that flashes across Arki’s face, gone in a heartbeat to be replaced by a mask of schooled indifference.

“And what did you do with yourself, in the world?” He looks Harry up and down in a way that makes Louis clench his hands into fists.

“I was at school,” Harry says. He looks at Louis, and then at his bowl. “I didn’t- I didn’t know what it was like. Until. Um.” 

Arki nods. “Good thing you found a friend in this one, yes?” He indicates Louis. There’s only a very slight inflection on _friend_ , but it’s enough to make Harry look up.

“Yes,” he says clearly. “It is a good thing.”

Louis smiles to himself. 

“How do you live down here?” Niall asks. “Where do you get food?”

Arki grins, seemingly unruffled by the change of topic. “We buy it, of course. We’re not savages, scrounging for scraps. But all that can wait for another time. You look tired.”

“Yeah,” Niall admits. 

“I can’t offer you much, but there’s a spare room here. Nothing fancy, of course.” Arki gets to his feet. “You can get some rest.”

“That’s…” 

“You are quite safe,” Arki says, looking at Louis. “You have my word.”

Louis looks at Harry, and then at Niall. They’re both waiting for him to make the decision but he looks at their faces, pale and drawn with exhaustion, and he knows it isn’t really a choice.

“We need to rest,” he says.

“Good, good.” Arki collects up their bowls and sets them on a crate. “Through that door, there.” He indicates one of the doors at the back of the room.

It isn’t much; he wasn’t lying about that. The room is a couple of metres square, with most of the floor space taken up by an old futon. The walls are whitewashed brick and there’s no light but it’s warm enough, and dry. There’s even a light. It’s unimaginable luxury after the deprivations of the last few weeks.

“That looks so good,” Niall says fervently as Louis closes the door behind them. He kicks off his shoes. “I don’t even care if he murders us in our sleep.”

“ _Niall_ ,” Harry admonishes. He looks at Louis, uncertainty written all over his face. “Do you- do you want to sleep with, with Niall?”

Louis forces himself to smile. “No, it’s ok. You sleep. I’m not sleepy.” It’s a lie, and he knows Harry knows it’s a lie. He also knows that Harry won’t call him out on it.

“How’s your head?” Harry asks instead.

“Hurting,” he admits. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“Are you supposed to stay awake with concussion?” Harry shuffles uncertainly as Niall climbs onto the futon, moving over as far as he can to leave room. “I’ll stay up with you if you want.”

“Harry, I’m fine,” Louis says exasperatedly. “Go to sleep. I’ll go and talk to our new friend and try and get a bit more out of him, ok?”

“But you’ll sleep later?”

“Yes, Harry; I’ll sleep later.”

Harry still looks torn and Louis steps back and opens the door.

“Sleep,” he tells him.

Arki is standing by the fire when Louis shuts the door and turns round. His back is to Louis but Louis is sure the man has been listening in. Louis doesn’t blame him; he wouldn’t trust three strangers either.

“Thank you,” he says, to break the silence. “For taking us in. Feeding us. You didn’t have to.”

“No,” Arki agrees. He doesn’t turn around. 

Louis sits down at the table. His knee is hurting badly again. 

“You’re hurt,” Arki observes.

“I’m fine.”

“Good at lying too.” It’s said without malice but Louis still flushes.

“I-”

“It’s all right,” Arki says mildly. He turns from the fire and comes to sit opposite Louis. It’s oddly companionable. “I imagine you learned to be _all right_ early on, am I right?”

“You know everything about me.” Louis hates how defensive he sounds.

Arki smiles, showing his teeth. “Not everything. But I know what you are. I know you must have run away. I know there’s probably a price on your head.” His voice changes abruptly, all trace of bonhomie stripped away. “How did you get your collars off? Did you have help?”

“No, _what_?” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Arki snaps. “Who helped you?”

“No, we-” Louis starts to stand up but Arki waves him back.

“Oh, sit down, little rooster; I’m not here to turn you in. I just want to be sure you’re what you claim to be.”

“We helped ourselves,” Louis says, lowering himself into his chair. And then, with more than a trace of bitterness, he adds: “No one ever cared enough to free us.”

Arki eyes him speculatively for a few moments and then nods, as if a decision has been made.

“You asked how we live down here. Do you want to know?”

“Is that an offer?” Louis shoots back. “Can we stay here?”

Arki uncorks the bottle of beer and pours himself another cup. He offers it to Louis but Louis shakes his head. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Life is hard. Everyone must earn their keep. And we - well, we can’t support the three of you without contribution in some way.” He takes a swig of his beer. “You want to keep your friends safe, yes? And I gave you my word of that.”

Louis is almost relieved. He understands perfectly well what the other man is saying without words and he _knows_ this, knows how to work with it. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

Arki smiles again. Louis thinks he looks like a shark. “Tomorrow, we’ll discuss it further. For now, perhaps you can repay me for the dinner you and your friends had from me.”

Louis starts to pull off his shirt but Arki shakes his head.

“No offence, but the three of you smell like a drain. Tomorrow you can bathe. I’ll have your mouth tonight.”

Not in the main room, to Louis’ relief - the last thing he wants is Niall or Harry walking in on this. Instead Arki takes him to his own room, only a little bigger than the room the others are sleeping in, and locks the door behind them. Kneeling on the cold stone floor, hands behind his back, Louis resolutely thinks of nothing at all.

***

“How’s the head?” Harry asks as they sit watching Niall shave. It’s morning - or at least Louis assumes it’s morning, although he has no way of telling time.

“Better.” Louis picks at the shirt he’s wearing, new and unfamiliar. It’s a little big for him but the novelty of wearing clean clothes outweighs the inconvenience. “Wouldn’t mind a bath, though.”

“At least we have hot water,” Harry points out. “And you can get just as clean with a gallon of water in a basin as you can in a shower.”

Louis squints at him. “Which textbook are you quoting that from?”

Harry smiles. He looks a lot better than Louis feels - although Louis suspects much of that is to do with the fact that Harry has had a lot more sleep than Louis. “I think my mum told me that once.” 

Louis snorts. “Any more useful information for me?”

“Not that I can think of.” Harry picks up a piece of leftover bread from their breakfast and puts it in his mouth. “He’s being nice to us, isn’t he?”

“Who, Arki?”

“Yeah.” Harry fidgets. “Letting us stay here. Feeding us. Getting us these clothes. It’s … good to know not everyone is bad.”

“We can’t trust him,” Louis cautions. Harry opens his mouth to object and Louis hurries on before he can anything. “We can’t trust anyone, Harry. It’s just us. We have to look after each other. Especially now-”

“-now Zayn’s gone,” Harry finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while. Louis is hyper-aware of Harry but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t really want to talk about Zayn or anything that happened at the station, but at the same time he knows they _need_ to talk, need to communicate if they’re going to have any chance of staying alive.

Niall rinses his face clean and sighs deeply. “That feels good,” he says with satisfaction.

“Like you needed to,” Louis needles.

Niall rolls his eyes at Harry. “Yeah, yeah. So, what are we doing?”

It’s a question Louis has been avoiding in his own mind for a while. They are, to all intents and purposes, trapped until Arki returns, and Louis has no idea where he’s gone or when he plans to return. Louis has already tried the door that leads back to the tunnel they came down and found it locked. There’s another door in that first chamber that he thinks must be where Arki has gone that is also locked.

He doesn’t like it.

“Let’s have a look around,” he says.

“There’s not much to look at.”

“So it won’t take us long then, will it, Niall?”

It doesn’t take them long. Either Arki really does have nothing to hide or - and Louis thinks this is more likely - he keeps anything incriminating somewhere else. It simply doesn’t make sense to Louis that someone could live by themselves without much sign of strain, eating well - if the meal they’d shared, Arki’s build, and the numerous tins in the crates are any guide - and somehow evade detection. He doesn’t feel any remorse for searching every inch of the rooms and looking through every crate that isn’t padlocked shut, but he’d feel a lot better if they’d found something to justify doing it.

He’s careful to ensure that they put everything back in its place but when Arki finally returns, whistling and carrying something under his arm, he pauses in the doorway, looking around as if he knows exactly what they’ve been doing.

“Come with me,” he says instead of the reprimand Louis was expecting. “I want you to see something.” When none of them move he adds, with a knowing smile, “I want you to meet the others.”

***

Nothing in Louis’ life has prepared him for it, not in the house and not in what he remembers of his life before. From the expressions on Harry and Niall’s faces, they are just as taken aback as he is.

He’d expected - perhaps naively - to meet a few dozen others, tucked away in subterranean caverns and sewer tunnels. Instead Louis finds himself above ground, navigating a maze of narrow alleyways and wooden walkways built over what he thinks might once have been a dock basin. There are proper buildings - crumbling, decrepit, but still recognisably brick-and-mortar - but every spare inch has been built over and built over again with a hodgepodge of wooden shacks and lean-tos, crowded in on each other like a giant ants nest. 

Children - barefoot and filthy - watch them silently from the shelter of the lean-tos. Louis doesn’t see any adults around but he has a strong sense of being watched as they follow Arki across a particularly narrow walkway. Through gaps in the slats he can see the dark water below, a timely reminder - if he needed one - that the three of them can be easily disposed of. He clenches his hands into fists, on edge.

“What is this?” Niall asks finally. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Welcome to the Ratways.” Arki waves an expansive hand before turning round to give them a grin. “The finest collection of scum and villainy in all of London. Don’t fall behind or you might never be seen again.”

“That’s reassuring,” Louis says sarcastically.

“They don’t know you,” Arki says. “You’re fair game.”

“Great,” Louis mutters. “And how long does it take before we’re not?”

Arki winks at him. “You’ll fit in soon enough.”

They see another adult, finally, when they reach land again; a pale, lanky figure watching them from the lopsided roof of a shack built out over the dock basin. It’s impossible to tell how old the man is: he might be anything from eighteen to forty with his raggedy beard and hat pulled down low over his face. Arki waves at him in greeting but he doesn’t wave back.

“Friendly place,” Louis comments.

“Oh, we’re very _friendly_ here,” Arki says. Louis flushes; luckily the others are looking the other way.

“How come you get left alone?” Harry asks abruptly. “It’s not exactly…”

“Hidden?” Arki smirks. “No need for us to hide. They don’t want to waste their time with the likes of us and besides-” He stops, and again winks at Louis. “Who better to play rat catcher than the rats themselves?”

Louis doesn’t have time to ask what that means; they’ve apparently arrived at their destination as Arki raps sharply on the door of one of the more substantial buildings and it opens almost at once to admit them. 

“In you come, boys - no dallying.”

They’re ushered into a small, dark room, only a little larger than Arki’s living space and made smaller by the number of people packed into it. _People_ not much older than them, Louis realises - some are little more than children, others around his own age. Male and female, all with the same sharpness he’d noticed in Summer’s face back when he and Zayn had met first met her.

“You’ve lost weight,” she tells him as she hops down from the upturned barrel she’d been sitting cross-legged on. “And what happened to the other one?”

“Summer,” Arki scolds as he crosses the room to take a seat on the barrel she’s vacated. In the crowded room he seems even bigger. “Don’t be rude to our guests.”

She sticks out her tongue at him and looks back at Louis. “You ran into trouble then?”

“Yes,” Louis says. He doesn’t see much point in lying to her. “Thanks for the advice. Did you find your sister?”

Summer indicates a small girl hiding against the side of an older girl. “Don’t mention it,” she says. She eyes Harry and Niall thoughtfully. “You joining us then? Our happy little band?”

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” Louis admits. “Except staying alive.” He eyes a boy in the corner holding a knife. “I hope.”

“Put it away, Joe,” Arki says sharply. “We don’t threaten our guests.”

“Not all of them, anyway,” someone mutters. Someone else sniggers. The boy, Joe, tucks the knife away but doesn’t look any less disgruntled. Louis makes a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Harry, to Louis’ surprise, steps forward suddenly. “What do you want with us?” he asks. “You didn’t bring us all the way here just to threaten us.”

Arki looks pleased with Harry’s boldness, which instantly has Louis on edge again. “No, certainly not. I wanted you to meet the others. And to make you an offer.”

Now Louis is on high alert. “What kind of offer?”

Instead of answering, Arki looks to one of the other boys. “Sean, show them what you picked up today.”

He must be about Harry’s age, Louis thinks, but with a hardness to his face Harry never has and an odd, shuffling gait. He reaches into the pockets of his too-large jacket and brings out an assortment of objects.

“Took ‘em from a line on Marchmont Street,” he says, holding them out for inspection.

“And what do we have there, Sean?” Arki asks lightly, almost playfully. 

“One watch, vintage, strap replaced but in good nick,” Sean says promptly. “Ladies purse, cash inside. Pocket watch, vintage. And some gloves; nice and warm for winter.”

“Very good,” Arki says approvingly. He smiles benevolently at Sean. “A good morning’s work.”

Harry clears his throat. “You’re Fagin,” he says slowly, addressing Arki.

Louis opens his mouth to ask him what the hell he’s talking about but Arki is laughing; not mocking laughter but instead the laughter of someone who appreciates a good joke.

“Yes; yes, indeed. Someone remembers their school lessons.”

Louis elbows Harry. “What are you on about?” he hisses.

Harry looks confused. “From- from _Oliver Twist_. The book. Charles Dickens. You know.”

“No,” Louis snaps back. “My education was a bit lacking in stuff like that.”

He’d do anything not to have seen the expression that crosses Harry’s face when he processes Louis’ words. Embarrassed and frustrated, Louis can’t stop himself adding:

“We didn’t all get a nice, cushy childhood, you know. Mummy reading to us every night.”

He wants to take the words back immediately. Looking at Harry’s pale, pinched face is almost a physical pain and Louis can’t bear it. He has to force himself to look away, to look at Arki instead.

“What’s he talking about?”

The man is watching them in a way Louis doesn’t really like but he addresses Louis’ question easily enough.

“Your … friend is simply pointing out my resemblance to a certain fictional villain - a little insulting as I don’t consider myself to be a villain, though I’m prepared to let that go. Fagin employed child pickpockets and thieves in Victorian London. Which, even I have to admit, we live in something close to. Perhaps the Victorians had better drains - although not for twenty years after _Oliver Twist_ was published.”

“This is _fascinating_ ,” Summer says sardonically. “A real history lesson. Why don’t you get to the important bit?”

Arki sighs. “Patience,” he says. “I was getting to that.”

“Get there faster.” Summer rolls her eyes at Louis. “He wants you to join us.”

Louis stares at her in disbelief. “You want us to nick stuff?”

She shrugs. “Why not? Do you think any of them out there even think of us as _human_?”

“Little worker bees,” Arki says sagely. “Shuttling in every day to serve their masters, earning their pittance for a day’s work and the chance to buy what crumbs fall from the table.” He smiles at Louis. “You’ve seen them. Crammed into their train carriages like sardines - grateful, so very grateful, for the crumbs.”

Louis swallows, thinking of the time they’d been caught looting the freight train. “Yes,” he says numbly. 

“Do you think any of them would have given a shit about you if they’d known you were out there? Of course not. They pretend they don’t even see us when they pass us on the street.”

“They’re afraid of us,” Sean says. “They know we’re what they could be.”

“So what if we take a little from them?” Summer continues. “Don’t we have a right to exist too?”

“We don’t just take from them,” another girl pipes up. “It’s just that they’re easier.”

Summer nods. “Yeah. They’re easy. They don’t have bodyguards, for one thing.” 

“Why do you stay here?” Niall asks. He’s been quiet until now, silently watching and listening. “You could get out of London.”

Summer snorts. “And go where? Where do you think is safe?”

“She’s right,” Harry says unexpectedly. “Nowhere’s safe. You think it is and that you’re ok and nothing really bad will happen but then it isn’t. It’s just an illusion.” He turns to Arki. “We’ll stay.”

“We need to think about it,” Louis interjects.

“We’ll stay,” Harry says doggedly. “We don’t have a choice. Where are we going to go?”

“We’ll find somewhere.” Louis feels exposed, raw and vulnerable. “We’ll be ok.” He clenches his fists again in an effort to hide how much he’s shaking.

“That’s what we thought before, and then Zayn-”

“Do _not_ mention him-” Louis can feel his control slipping away from him and something in his desperation must show in his face because Harry closes his mouth on whatever he was going to say and reaches out instead, his fingertips brushing against the back of Louis’ hand.

“We need to stay here, Louis,” he says, very softly. “You’re still hurt-”

“I’m _fine_.”

“We’re all exhausted. We need to eat. And sleep.”

“We don’t get anything for _free_ , Harry.” He comes close, then, to letting slip to what happened between himself and Arki but catches himself just in time. “We’ll owe them. We already do.”

“Boys, boys,” Arki interrupts. “No need to argue. You owe us nothing for the food and shelter you’ve already had. The debt is paid. We can talk about … other work you can do for us. For now, do as Harry says. Rest. Recover. You are safe here. Sean, find them somewhere to live.”

“Wait, you’re kicking us out already?” Niall asks. 

Arki laughs. “I thought you’d prefer to stay somewhere with some fresh air. Well, as fresh as one can get around here. Not buried in the ground like me.”

“No, that’s fine,” Louis says quickly. If they are going to stay then he wants Harry and Niall as far away from Arki as possible. “Fresh air is good.”

Five minutes later they’re following Sean across a rickety walkway to what looks like an even more rickety shack balanced precariously on the edge of the dock basin.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sean says apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Harry reassures him. Sean looks thoroughly charmed and if Louis wasn’t so tired and brittle he’d be amused how easily people fall for Harry’s charm.

“You could maybe fix it up a bit. The roof’s ok. You can caulk up the worst of the holes in the walls. And Julie - that’s my sister - she’s going to bring you some bedding.”

“What about food?” Niall asks.

Sean shrugs. “There’s a cooking fire, I think. But we usually eat all together, at least in the evenings. Just follow everyone else.”

“The others won’t mind?” Harry asks.

“Nah.” Sean grins. “It’s all right here. We look after each other. Got to, haven’t you? No one else is going to look after us.”

The shack is every bit as rickety as it looked from a distance. It’s two rooms - one large, one small, and a dearth of furniture. But it’s theirs, and after Sean’s left them with a promise to return with bedding, Louis can’t help but feel a tiny sense of relief.

“We’re still alive,” Harry says, as if he knows exactly what Louis is thinking.

“Yeah,” Louis says slowly. “We are. And we’re together.”

Harry smiles, and touches his fingertips to Louis’ wrist. “That’s what matters.”

***

“I wasn’t sure you’d find your way back.”

Louis inwardly sighs as he pulls his shirt over his head and casts it aside. “You sent one of your little minions for me; it wasn’t like I had a chance of getting lost.”

Arki chuckles and moves over on the futon so Louis can lie down at his side. “I trust you all ate your fill at dinner.”

As a reminder, it’s about as subtle as Louis is coming to expect from Arki. “Yeah, it was good. Not bad at all.”

“We don’t live a bad life here.” Arki’s hand snakes across Louis’ belly. “There’s a place for you.”

Louis holds in his instinctive shudder as Arki’s hand slides over his skin. “For _all_ of us,” he corrects sharply.

Another chuckle, muffled a little as Arki rolls him over onto his belly. “For all of you.”

It’s not the worst thing Louis’ ever experienced in his life. Arki isn’t particularly gentle with him when he fucks him and it’s uncomfortable, but he’s not actively trying to hurt Louis either and when it’s done Arki does nothing to stop Louis getting up and going through to the main room to wash himself clean.

“Is this- is this part of it?” Louis can’t help asking as he dresses himself afterwards. “Is this always going to be part of the deal?”

“A lesser man would take that as an insult,” Arki says mildly.

“I just want to know where I stand.”

Arki smiles as he reaches over and tosses Louis a couple of coins from the table. “Your friends are safe, Louis. That’s where you stand.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has a plan, and gets a surprise.

He’s about fifty; tall, stooped, and clutching a worn briefcase to his chest like a shield. He shuffles along the street without ever looking up, eyes fixed on the pavement in front of him and barely paying attention to his surroundings. He’s just one of many, a single drone in the swarming horde making their way down Argyle Street  towards Kings Cross as the skies darken overhead. Louis has already learned that this is the best time, when people are tired from their day’s labour, when they’re hurrying for their train and inclined to pay less attention to their surroundings. Still, he can’t help holding his breath when Summer and another girl, Clare, detach themselves from the shadows of the alleyway opposite Louis’ own hiding place and fall into position either side of their mark.

Louis only sees because he’s looking for it; no one else seems to notice and no one stops or calls out as Summer stumbles and falls against the man and he instinctively reaches out to catch her, letting the briefcase drop. Clare has it away before he’s even finished steadying Summer.

Summer gives him a grateful smile, thanks him, and disappears into the crowd. Their mark looks around for his briefcase, and Louis watches the disbelief, then the resignation that follows.

“Don’t you ever feel bad?” he asks as the three of them drop out of the stream of commuters into another alleyway. “He wasn’t exactly rich.”

Summer snorts. “You _are_ new at this.” She looks at Clare. “What’ve we got, then?”

For answer, Clare flips the briefcase open and tips it out onto the ground. It’s mostly paperwork, but there’s a crumpled wallet. 

“See? Told you he wasn’t carrying it on him.” Summer picks up the wallet and rifles through it. “Hmm, not bad. Add it to the others and that’s a good day’s work.” She looks at Louis and grins. “What do you think?”

“What happens if you get caught?” Louis asks.

Clare makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “What do you think?”

“Come on,” Summer says, grabbing his arm. “Come and see.” She tucks the wallet away. The briefcase and its meagre contents are left in the alleyway.

The streets are emptier when they emerge; the stream of people fleeing the city for the night has slowed to a trickle and Louis feels strangely exposed even though there’s no obvious sign of threat.

“Do they all leave at night?” he asks.

“Mostly,” Summer says. “A few stay but not many. Just what they need to keep the place going. Everyone else leaves.”

Louis looks at the buildings around them. They’re intact and apparently undamaged - which is unsettling after the destruction he’s seen elsewhere - but also very obviously mostly empty aside from a few shops and those buildings which seem to be used for storage.

“Why don’t some of them live here?” he asks. “These are all empty. Then they wouldn’t have to come in every day.”

“Quarantine,” Clare says, as if that explains everything.

“She means,” Summer adds, seeing Louis’ confusion, “it’s set up like this for a reason. In case _it_ happens again, they can just stop the trains coming in, seal everything up.”

“Apart from us,” Clare says gleefully.

“Apart from us,” Summer agrees. 

“Why don’t they come after you? It’s not like you’re hidden.”

Summer shrugs. “Who knows? We’re not important enough to do anything about. Maybe they just don’t care.”

It doesn’t sound right to Louis, however unconcerned she sounds.  If the soldiers cared enough to notice that four people were stealing food and supplies from the trains coming in to London, and do something about it, then he’s pretty sure they’d care enough to do something about a couple of hundred people living in what is effectively a village in its own right, when its inhabitants are preying on the commuting workers coming in and out of Kings Cross.

“Anyway,” she continues, tugging his arm to make sure he keeps up with them as they cross the road. “You never told us exactly what happened. Why you did as I said.”

Louis’ been thinking about this, so the response comes easily. “They came to our station,” he says.

She looks sympathetic. “And that’s when you lost the other one?”

“Zayn.” It’s a physical pain to say his name still, an acrid taste in his mouth. “Yeah.”

“At least the rest of you got away.” She squeezes his arm. “We’ve all lost someone. Or more than one. It’s shit but- but you deal with it.”

Louis looks at her pale, determined face, the scar on her cheek, the layers of worn clothes that don’t entirely disguise her too-thin frame, and he feels sick. She could have been his sister: for all he knows this is exactly how his sisters are living, if they’re still alive.

And he killed her brother.

He forces himself to smile. “So where’s this place you were going to show me?”

“You’ll see,” she says cryptically. They cross another road and take a sharp left, and suddenly the buildings around them aren’t so undamaged: there are windows missing and lead stripped from roofs and cables stripped from walls. With every step the damage seems to get worse, until they make another turn and suddenly there’s nothing. Or rather, there’s an expanse of nothing, a no man’s land of flattened rubble perhaps a hundred yards wide, with a single road running across it to the buildings on the other side. And in the no man’s land itself-

-Louis turns away, nauseated.

“Yeah,” Summer says resignedly. “It gets you at first. Deep breaths. Try not to be sick.”

“At least it’s not summer,” Clare adds helpfully. “It really reeks in summer.”

Louis wants to point out that it really reeks of death and decay _now_ , but he supposes she’s right; it would be worse in summer. He still doesn’t think there would ever be a good time of year to come here.

“What- what did they do?”

“Stealing stuff,” Summer says matter-of-factly. “Their rations are shit, you know. You won’t know, I mean. Not as a, as a-”

“You can say it,” Louis says wryly. “A whore.”

“Whatever.” Summer pokes his arm. “Anyway, they have ration cards. And they only get so much and it’s not enough.”

“More than us though,” Clare says.

“More than us,” Summer allows. “But still shit. That’s why we don’t take their ration books. So because they have no food, sometimes they try taking stuff, from the houses here. But they search them at Kings Cross and if they catch anyone they bring them here and…” She trails off, waving a hand at the horror before them.

“Takes them ages to die,” Clare adds.

“And what about you?” Louis asks. “Do any of you ever get caught?”

“Sometimes,” Summer admits. “Not often.”

“That’s reassuring,” Louis says sarcastically. “Ok, I’ve seen enough. What’s on the other side?”

“Empty buildings, mostly; right down to the river. That’s where _they_ live, on the banks of the Thames. It’s hard to get down there; if you look, off to the right, there are checkpoints. You have to have a pass to get through.”

Louis nods. He can’t really make out anything in the direction she’s pointing so he has to take her word for it. “Do they check everyone?”

“Everyone who doesn’t look right, yeah.”

“We should get back,” Clare says nervously. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Summer agrees. “Maybe we’ll get another one on the way back.”

They don’t - the streets are practically deserted now and Louis is already learning that crowds are best for the type of casual theft Summer and Clare specialise in. The girls seem happy enough with their haul, and so is Arki when they present it to him.

They’re not the only ones who’ve been out today. A table is set up so that each returning pair or threesome can add their contribution under Arki’s watchful eye.

“Not a bad day,” he praises when the last pair, two boys Louis thinks are about thirteen, place a tatty watch and a woman’s bracelet on the pile. “Not bad at all.”

“It’s getting worse,” one of the other boys says. “Do you know how far we had to go just to get this?”

“Our trials and tribulations make us what we are,” Arki says equably. “Tomorrow it will be better. And next week the same.”

“He’s right though,” Summer whispers to Louis. “It is getting worse.”

Louis glances at Arki but the man is sorting through the day’s haul and seemingly not paying attention. “Why is it getting worse?”

“Fewer of them coming in. And the ones that do have less on them. And we hear things … but Arki says not to listen.”

Louis wants to ask what she means but Arki is speaking again, something about comradeship and sticking together and looking out for each other, and he winks at Louis as he speaks and Louis hears every word that isn’t said.

***

“You’re wasting your time here,” Louis says bluntly.

Arki raises an eyebrow as he reaches over for a cigarette. He’s the most careful smoker Louis has ever seen - no doubt a habit gained from never being sure when he’s going to get another pack - and he takes his time to reply, making sure to light the cigarette and get a good grip on it before he speaks.

“Am I? In what way?”

“Stealing pennies from people who barely have enough to live on? What kind of existence is that?”

Arki regards him thoughtfully. “An _existence_ ,” he points out. “No one troubles us here. No soldiers break down our doors and turn us from our beds. But enlighten me: what should we be doing, little rooster?”

Louis glares at him defiantly. “You can start by untying my fucking hands.”

“Oh, I rather like you like that,” Arki says lightly. “On your knees, bound, and utterly, utterly furious with me.”

“It’s in my _hair_.”

Arki chuckles. “I’ll keep your preferences in mind for the future.”

Which means, Louis suspects, that now he knows Louis doesn’t like him coming on his face - and that Louis _really_ doesn’t like having his hands tied behind his back - that both will be happening again in the very near future.

“If you don’t let me go, there won’t _be_ a future.”

The smile is wiped off the other man’s face in an instant; if Louis could he’d snatch the words back because Arki looks furious and he thinks for a moment that he’s going to strike him. Arki gets himself back under control with visible effort.

“So much spirit. It’s very … encouraging. So what’s this idea of yours?”

“Who says I have an idea?”

Arki leans forward and pats Louis’ cheek. “Oh, I know you have an idea. A smart boy like you. Now, tell me what’s in that head of yours.”

Louis sighs. “You’re looking at the wrong targets. Those people have next to nothing, and you have to put in so much effort to get not very much, instead of going where the money is.”

Arki leans back. “Ah,” he says appreciatively. “Now I see the way your mind is working. But you’ve seen what happens to those who get caught.”

Louis doesn’t bother asking how he knows. “So we don’t get caught.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Untie my hands,” Louis says patiently. “I’ll draw you a picture.”

That earns him a laugh and, to his relief, the appearance of a penknife to cut the rope holding his wrists. Louis gets to his feet, wincing as the blood rushes back to his cramped legs. 

“Paper?” he asks.

“Over there. There’s a pencil too.”

It takes Louis a minute or two to sketch out his idea. He sits down at the table and pushes the sketch across to Arki.

“The Fleet drains into the Thames, right? So we follow it down, as far as we need to, past the checkpoints.”

Arki contemplates the sketch for a moment. “You realise they patrol the streets too? Anyone who’s anyone has their own bodyguards. You won’t be picking the pockets of a fine gentleman. At least, not unless he takes you to his bed.”

Louis ignores the jibe. “We’ll scout it out. Find their weaknesses. They probably feel safe, like they don’t have to worry about security. We could take more in one hit than we would in a day otherwise.”

“It’s an idea,” Arki admits. “But is it a good one, that’s the question I ask myself. I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

Louis bites down on the instinctive sarcastic retort and says instead:

“What’s the risk in going to look? I can be there and back in half a day.”

“Take Summer,” Arki says. “No, no arguments. You don’t know London like she does. I don’t want you getting lost.”

“I’m touched, really,” Louis says sardonically. “Can I wash my hair now?”

Arki waves his hand expansively. “Be my guest. And there are some oranges in that crate there. Take them back for the others. For your boy.”

Louis, half way across the room, pauses. There’s no mistaking the insinuation in the man’s voice. “He’s not my boy.”

“Take them anyway.” Arki sounds disinterested, almost bored, but Louis is pretty sure it’s an act. “When are you planning on going on your little trip?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Are you well enough?”

Louis snorts. “I’m fine. No concussion. Everything’s good.” He hesitates. “If I’m right, if this works-”

“Then I’ll be very happy with you.” Arki stubs out his cigarette and gets to his feet and Louis can’t help but take a step back as the man looms over him. “And I know you want to make me happy, Louis. Don’t you?”

“Of course,” Louis lies.

Arki smiles. 

***

Harry, to Louis’ annoyance, is still awake when he gets back. He was hoping they’d both be fast asleep but, while Niall is sprawled on his back in their bed and snoring, Harry lies still and silent next to him, very, very awake.

Louis carefully closes the rickety door behind him and places the oranges down on the floor. “Hey,” he says in a hushed voice.

“You’re back late.” They’ve fixed up their ramshackle home as best they can but they haven’t yet managed to caulk up all the cracks and holes and there’s enough moonlight for Louis to see Harry watching him.

“Got talking,” Louis says, shrugging in an attempt at nonchalance. “Going to bed now.”

“Louis…” Harry starts to sit up.

“I’m fine, Harry,” Louis says, a little more curtly than he intended. “Go to sleep. We need to do more with the roof tomorrow.”

Harry slumps back and Louis turns away before he can think of something else to say.

The other, much smaller room in their home has become Louis’ room by default. There’s a curtain rather than a door between the two rooms but it’s privacy of a sort. Quickly, in case Harry decides to come through, Louis strips off his jacket and burrows into the pile of blankets over layers of sacking that comprise his bed. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily, and for some reason Louis can’t quite seem to fall into a deep sleep. He drifts in and out of awareness for a while, waking a couple of times when a dog barks, another time when a baby starts wailing somewhere in the distance. And then, some time in the early hours, he comes back to the muted tones of Harry and Niall talking next door, and the distinctive sound of his own name.

He probably shouldn’t listen in. Louis does it anyway.

“You should say something,” Niall is saying. “He won’t start it.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Harry asks. Even at something barely louder than a whisper he still sounds distressed. “I don’t know how to, how to even start.”

“You _fucked_ him; I think you can talk to him,” Niall says matter-of-factly. The sound Harry makes in response is definitely distressed. “What? It’s the truth.”

“It didn’t, um, go well when I- when we did that,” Harry points out.

Niall is quiet, for a moment. “He doesn’t hold it against you.”

“He should,” Harry says mournfully.

“He doesn’t though.” Niall’s tone is confident now. “He likes you; anyone can see that. What happened, happened.”

“Niall, he pissed himself because I tried to touch him. You didn’t see him. He was _scared_ of me.”

Louis closes his eyes, his cheeks burning with shame. Of course Harry has remembered that little detail. It wouldn’t do to forget the extent of Louis’ humiliation, after all.

“Can you fucking blame him?”

“For what?” Harry sounds bewildered. “I wanted to make it good for him. I don’t- Is there, like, a reason I shouldn’t have?”

Niall hesitates, and Louis waits, holding his breath. It’s hard to hear anything over the pounding of his heart. He wants to rush in there and tell Niall to be silent, to not let Harry see what Louis is, but something keeps him paralysed in his bed, unable to move. 

“Harry,” Niall says gently. “You know he’s really, _really_ fucked up, right? I mean, none of us are- _were_ ok. Me, I’d be happy if no one ever touched me that way ever again. I don’t know, maybe one day I’ll meet someone and it’ll be ok. I don’t know. But Louis-”

“What?”

Niall’s voice gets even quieter, so quiet Louis has to strain to hear. 

“He thinks he deserves it.”

Louis waits for Harry to say something in response but he doesn’t and, eventually, Louis hears Niall snoring again and he realises that they’ve fallen asleep.

Louis wipes at his wet cheeks. He doesn’t remember starting to cry but at some point he must have done.

_Fuck_. 

It’s better this way, he tells himself. Better that Harry sees him as he really is. Harry deserves more than Louis can ever give him.

Eventually Louis falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion, a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep that carries him through until well after dawn, when he wakes to the sound of Niall whistling cheerfully next door. He reaches out and hammers on the dividing wall.

“Too early, Niall!”

Niall laughs. “There’s bacon, you twat. Rise and shine.”

Louis sits up. “Bacon? What the _fuck_ , Niall.”

The curtain is pushed back a little, just enough for Niall to poke his head through. He looks, Louis thinks bitterly, far too cheerful for someone who was awake in the middle of the night.

“Don’t know where they got it but one of the lads found a whole box of bacon. Bagged us a couple of rashers; we saved you some.”

Louis scrambles out of bed; Niall laughs. 

“Yeah, it tastes as good as it smells.”

Harry isn’t in the other room. Louis looks at Niall questioningly as he takes the rasher of bacon Niall hands him. Niall just shrugs.

“He went out after he’d had his. Don’t know where he’s gone.”

Louis wants to go and look for him but he has a plan to put into action and, despite everything, he thinks Harry is probably safe enough in the Ratways.

“See if you can find him later,” he tells Niall. “Fuck, this tastes amazing!”

Niall grins at him. “How long’s it been since we had bacon?”

“Too long,” Louis says fervently. “Why did I ever take it for granted?”

“I could stay here forever if there’s bacon.” Niall glances up at Louis. “Are we? Are we staying here?”

“I don’t know.” Louis regretfully swallows the last mouthful. “For now, yeah. Why, did you have plans?”

Niall shrugs. “Hadn’t really thought about it. We’ve just been running. Surviving. Haven’t had a chance to think about the future.”

“Well, don’t get too settled.” Louis looks around. “But see what you can do to this place while I’m gone. There’s a right draught coming in over in that corner.”

“Where are you going?”

Louis gives him a quick summary of everything he told Arki, and a few things he didn’t tell him. Niall listens in silence, his face grave.

“How long do you think you’ll be?” he asks when Louis is done.

“I don’t know,” Louis admits. “As long as it takes. I have no idea what we’re going to find. How bad it is - for us, I mean. It’s been a long time since I was there; I don’t really remember it.”

“If they catch you-”

“They won’t,” Louis says with more confidence than he feels. “They’re not going to catch me. We’re just going to look. A quick look-see and then we’ll come back and decide what to do next.”

“Right,” Niall says without conviction. 

“Trust me, Niall.”

Niall smiles then, mock-punching Louis’ arm. “You know I do. You’re a fucking idiot sometimes but I trust you.”

“Hey!” Louis says, offended.

Niall just grins wider.

It’s raining as Louis steps out of their home, little more than a light drizzle but seemingly enough to keep everyone else indoors. The back of his neck still prickles with the sensation of being watched. It’s not threatening as such - he’s fairly sure no one is actually going to do them harm, especially while he’s warming Arki’s bed - but it is unsettling. He tries not to look at the dark waters of the dock basin as he crosses one of the wooden bridges to the shack Summer shares with her sister and another girl. It would be easy - so very, very easy - to be _helped_ into an accident in those waters.

He shivers.

“You’re late,” Summer says without preamble when she opens the door to him.

He shrugs. “You ready?”

“About an hour ago.” She steps out and shuts the door firmly behind her. “Just so you know, I think this is a stupid idea. A _really_ stupid idea. If I die because of this I will come back and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Good to know.” Louis smiles just to annoy her and adds, “You don’t have to come.”

Summer scowls. “Arki told me to.” 

He lets her lead the way; he expects to go back to the man’s hideaway and get down to the river by that route but instead she guides him in the opposite direction, through the winding alleyways of shacks built on and up against what’s left of what must once have been wharf buildings. Gradually, Louis notices, the lean-tos thin out and more and more of the buildings they pass are empty and crumbling. Summer takes another turn, into a short, narrow alleyway, and stops.

“This way.”

“How many of these are there?” Louis asks as she takes the grille off the wall to reveal the void behind. As she moves her jacket is pushed back from her waist and he sees the sheathed knife tied to her belt.

“Not many. Most of the buildings they were in got demolished. Arki says they’re left over from the war. He says there are all sorts of secret tunnels in London.” She sets the grille down and gestures at Louis impatiently. “Ask him, if you care that much.”

“But you know where they are.” Louis ducks into the small space and sets his foot on the ladder descending to the river he can hear below him.

“Some of them.” It’s a grudging admission; an indication, if Louis needed one, that she doesn’t entirely trust him. Which is fine as far as Louis is concerned.

He climbs to the bottom of the ladder and straightens up. The Fleet is wider here, and deeper, rushing and roaring through the tunnel in its final stretch. The channel cut for the river itself takes up most of the tunnel floor and the path running along one bank is narrow and wet with spray.

“Don’t fall in,” Summer says as she jumps down the last step.

Louis looks at her sharply. He’s not sure - it’s hard to hear clearly over the roar of the river echoing in the tunnel - but it sounded like there was an undertone to her words. He’s not sure whether he’s imagining it or not: she has no reason to harm him, unless she knows.

_Unless she knows_. “Lead on,” he says with forced cheerfulness.

“You don’t want to lead?”

There’s no way Louis is going to go first, with her behind him ready to give him a hard shove into the turbulent waters of the Fleet. Or a knife in his back. “You know where you’re going.”

“Fine,” she says impatiently. “Just don’t fall behind. I’m not waiting for you to catch up.”

The embarrassing thing is that it’s not easy to keep up with her; although there’s enough light coming in via the fissures in the roof, the muddied concrete floor is slippery as ice and more than once Louis has to catch himself against the wall as his feet slip from under him. 

“Would you rather swim?” Summer asks sarcastically, when he nearly falls into the river and only manages to stop himself by falling inelegantly to his knees. She grins when he glares in response. “Still, you’re used to being on your knees.”

It’s a relief, in a way. Louis will take open animosity over subtle resentment any day. “Yeah, I am,” he says equably, scrambling back to his feet. “So what?”

She snorts. “He’ll get tired of you, you know. You’re just new and shiny right now.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not jealous. He’s old enough to be your grandad.” 

“Jealous of _you_?” She looks incredulous. “Fuck off. You think I want to fuck him?”

“So why do you care?”

Summer waves a hand at the tunnel around them. “This. You. Your stupid little plan he’s indulging just because you’ll get on your knees for him. Though I think you’ll get on your knees for _anyone_.”

Louis swallows. It’s a little too close to the bone. But he’s had more than enough practice at accepting insults far more cutting than hers. “Fine,” he says simply. “Stay here. I didn’t ask you to come. Go back if you like.”

“What, and say I left you?” She turns away. “Come on. Let’s get this done. I want to get back before dark. Unless you get me killed too.”

Louis stares at her retreating back.

***

The confluence of the Fleet and the Thames presents them with another grille barrier, as easily removed as the others. They climb up another rickety ladder and emerge in a small, dark chamber that smells of rot and urine.

“This is nice,” Summer says, but quietly.

“Look for a way out,” Louis tells her.

It takes a few minutes of searching by touch alone to find an exit, and another minute or two to force open the wooden door, swollen with damp and wedged into its frame. They step out into an alleyway that looks every bit as run-down as the one they left, until Louis turns his head and sees the main road crossing the end of the alleyway, the tarmac and passing cars.

It’s a world he’d almost forgotten existed, a world of bustling streets and buildings that aren’t crumbling and decayed. 

They’re out of place; there’s no getting away from that. They try to stick to the smaller streets, keeping close to the shelter of the buildings, but they still attract curious looks from passersby. Something to remember, Louis thinks. He doesn’t think it’s the clothes; theirs might be worn and dirty but they’re not much worse than those worn by many of the people around them. It’s something else that sets these people apart, something in the way they walk and the way they hold themselves and the indefinable air of hopelessness that follows each and every one of them like a dark cloud.

Louis hunches his shoulders, keeps his head down. Something to work on, he thinks.

Yet none of these people are the targets he had in mind. These are the same people who present themselves every morning and every evening going to and from Kings Cross, the same people who produce nothing more than a few coins and cheap trinkets. His targets are the shadowy figures sitting impassively behind the tinted windows of the cars that pass by, so far removed from the people they drive past they might as well be gods.

“What’s your plan?” Summer murmurs. “Throw yourself in front of a car?”

“Maybe.” Louis draws her into the shelter of a shopfront. “But that might hurt so I’d rather not.”

“So what’s your plan? Or are we going to go back and say we had a look around and there’s nothing?”

“Stay here,” Louis says suddenly, urgently.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’ve got a plan.” Louis ducks away before she can respond, dropping into a crouching run behind a passing car as it slows and then turns into an underground garage. It was the whine of the garage door going up that gave him the idea in the first place and Louis acts on pure instinct, trusting in the suddenness of his move and the unwillingness of passersby to notice anything out of the ordinary to keep him safe.

And somehow, it works. The door rattles down again almost as soon as the car passes through, and Louis hurries through just in time. He’s trapped - but instead of panic he feels only exhilaration as he runs down a ramp and dives for cover between two parked cars in the small parking garage. He hears the car stop and then the sound of doors opening, a man’s voice. Louis presses against the cool metal of one of the cars and holds his breath, waiting for the shout of alarm that will signal his discovery. 

But there’s nothing. Car doors slam. More voices, and then footsteps, moving away. 

He’s alone.

Louis lets out the breath he was holding and he can’t help himself: he laughs, soft and breathless. Shakily he gets to his feet and looks around, careful to check for surveillance cameras. There’s one, on the far wall, aimed at the door of a lift. The stairs opposite are, he judges, out of range.

There are only five cars in the parking garage. Three of them, including the two he’s hiding between are clearly vintage, although he doesn’t know enough about cars to recognise the makes. The other two, including the one he followed into the garage, are newer, probably imports, and one of them is a convertible with the roof folded down.

Louis edges over to it, careful to stay out of sight of the camera, and gives the interior a quick once-over, looking for anything he can easily grab. To his annoyance there’s nothing on display, and he doesn’t want to risk setting off an alarm by searching it properly. 

One look back at the door he entered by tells him that escape by that route is out of the question: whatever triggers the roller-shutter has no visible manual override and, besides, he doesn't really want to risk drawing attention by going out that way. His choice is very simple: to wait for however long it takes for someone else to drive into or out of the garage, or to take the stairs and see if he can find a way out that way. 

He takes the stairs.They're narrow and dark and clearly not used by anyone who actually lives in the building. He cautiously opens the first door he finds and steps out into a recess in the wall of an entrance lobby. As he'd suspected, it's an apartment building. To his chagrin, there's a concierge, and the only way he's getting to the entrance doors is by walking past an open door through which he can hear keyboard clicking and the occasional cough.

Louis weighs his options. Going back down to the garage doesn't appeal. Taking the stairs, or the lift he can see across the lobby, to the upper floors doesn't appeal. Trying to look for an alternative exit on this floor is likely to draw attention. There's really only one option, and so he takes a deep breath and steps out across the lobby. 

The keyboard sounds stop. A chair squeaks. Louis keeps walking, hands in his pockets, somehow managing not to break his stride when a small, mousy woman dressed all in black bustles out of the side room, her face at once hardening in suspicion.

"Who are you?"

"I'm just leaving," Louis says. He pulls his hands from his pockets to show her how harmless he is. "Nothing to see."

She looks him over critically and Louis is again aware of just how out of place he looks. He makes sure to stare back, not backing down. If he shows the slightest sign of panic, anything that might bring her suspicions to the boil, she'll raise the alarm.

Her lip curls in something like disgust and Louis knows exactly what she thinks of him - it's mostly true, although not in the way perhaps she thinks - and he bites back the sarcastic words he's longing to say because she's his way out of here and it's better she thinks he's a street whore than a thief. 

"Didn't see you come in," she says slowly.

"I drove in."

She snorts in derision, and looks like she might be about to say something else when a bell rings in the room behind her. She looks sharply at Louis.

"Wait here. Don’t touch anything.”

He waits, and he watches as she presses a button in a panel of buttons on the wall, and he listens to the muted rumble of the roller-shutter door opening somewhere below them. 

"Do you do that all day?" he asks.

She comes back out, arms folded across her thin chest. "It's a job," she says. "Which apartment were you in?"

He's still formulating an answer to that when the lift doors open and a man steps out. Her attention is immediately on the newcomer, and so is Louis'. 

The recognition goes both ways. "Louis?"

Louis pastes on a smile. He doesn't remember the man's name - most of the house guests didn't bother to introduce themselves anyway and the ones who did were usually best forgotten - but he remembers that this one wasn't so bad. Almost kind, in his own way. "Hi."

"Is he with you, Sir?" the woman asks, her expression both obsequious and curious.

The man looks at her and then at Louis. He's younger than Louis remembers, very fair and very pale. No, he hadn't been so bad at all. He hadn't wanted to see Louis hurt or humiliated, which immediately ranked him above most of the guests Louis had ever encountered. And now he's looking at Louis with mild confusion in his eyes but no alarm or disdain. "What?"

"Is he with you, Sir?" she repeats. "He was wandering around; I was about to call security but of course if he's with you-"

"He is," the man interrupts curtly. Unseen by her, he winks at Louis. "Yes, he's with me. Come with me, Louis."

Louis follows him mutely, not daring to say anything as they get into the lift and the man punches the button for the third floor.

"She would, you know," he says conversationally as the lift whirrs into life. "Call security. What were you doing?" Before Louis can think of an answer he shakes his head. "No, of course I'm being stupid. I'm sorry." He reaches out and touches Louis' neck. "It seems strange to see you without the collar."

Louis resists the urge to flinch away from the touch; instead he tilts his head, letting the man pet him. "It feels strange."

"I can imagine." The lift stops and the doors open. They step out onto a small landing; there's only one door. The man walks him over to it, his hand on Louis' arm. "I was sorry to hear that Simon gave up the house. I did wonder what had happened to you."

"It's nice of you to be concerned," Louis says. "Sir." He slips it in as an afterthought, quietly impresses at himself that he manages to even think of it when he's still reeling from the off-the-cuff remark. 

The apartment isn't big but Louis can practically taste the money in the air. Which makes sense, since the man knows Simon well enough to have been invited to the house in the first place. A plan is forming in Louis' head and he resolves to save the questions until later.

"This is nice," he says truthfully. He waves a hand at the floor to ceiling windows at one end of the open plan living space. "Airy."

"It belonged to my father," the man says, almost apologetically. "I don't use it much, only when I'm in London. But it has its advantages."

"Right." Louis looks down and glances up, deliberately coquettish. He feels a rush of smug satisfaction when he sees the other man blush and shuffle uncomfortably. "Lucky we met then. Must have been fate."

They bathe together, in a sunken bath larger than Louis' bedroom, and Louis luxuriates in the endless supply of hot water and expensive toiletries the man seems happy enough to let him use. 

"Call me Matthew, not Sir," the man gasps after Louis sucks his cock. Louis doesn't, but for the first time in his life he doesn’t feel powerless with a man he’s been brought up to fear and serve. He’s long known how to make it easier, to flirt and charm and exaggerate his own pain and terror, but this is something new, and it’s not so much Matthew himself but something in Louis that has changed.

"This is really good," Louis says as they sit at the dining table later to eat the food Matthew cooks. "I don't know what it is, but it's really good."

"It's seared scallops," Matthew says, smiling. "With spicy red pepper and cilantro sauce."

"I have no idea what cilantro is."

"Coriander. I'm sure you know what that is."

Louis pouts. "I'm not much of a cook."

"But you have other talents," Matthew says lightly, and it's not meant maliciously but in that moment Louis _hates_ him, hates him for everything he stands for and everything he is. For his easy acceptance of his own place in a world that has chewed Louis up and spat him out into the gutter.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I do."

"Do you miss the house? It looked very comfortable there."

Louis shrugs, deliberately casual. "I suppose."

Matthew hesitates. "I- I don't really know what happened. I assume Simon freed you-"

Louis doesn't say anything to confirm or deny. He feels strangely detached from the conversation, almost giddy with adrenaline and fury. 

Matthew shuffles uncomfortably. "Of course he did. I'm sorry. It must be very difficult for you."

"Difficult?"

"To live like this." Matthew smiles at him, a wide, entirely genuine smile. "Without guidance or authority. So much easier for those like- like you, to be slaves. Kinder."

There's so much that Louis wants to say, a whole torrent of words waiting to spill out, but he doesn't know where to start with explaining just how very wrong the other man is.

About everything.

"We should go to bed," he says instead, and he pushes his chair back and stands up, extending a hand to Matthew.

The other man seems accepting of Louis taking the lead. Louis strips him and pushes him onto the bed and rides him, pushing Matthew's hands away firmly when Matthew tries to hold him by the hips. Matthew's protests are half-hearted and he soon gives up.

Matthew falls asleep afterwards. Louis takes a shower and dresses in clean clothes from the man's wardrobe. He has to roll up the trouser legs but it's worth it. That done, he grabs a sports bag from the back of the wardrobe and throws in more clothes, a watch he finds on the dresser, and toiletries from the bathroom. Checking that Matthew is still asleep, he moves through into the main living area and fills the remaining space with food before heading for the exit.

"Sleep tight," he mutters as he locks the door behind him and pockets Matthew's wallet and keys. He's still angry, but the fury burning in his veins is overlaid with exultation. He eschews the lift in favour of the stairs, taking them almost at a run in his haste to get out of the building. Armed with Matthew's pass card, taken from his wallet, he simply walks across the lobby, swipes the card in the reader next to the door, and walks out onto the pavement. The concierge doesn't even open her door.

It's dark outside, which catches him by surprise. He had no real concept of time passing while he was inside but he realises it must have been hours. He has no illusions that Summer will have waited for him and, indeed, she’s no longer in the spot he left her. It's also raining, and he ducks his head down and starts to walk, trying to remember the way back to the tunnel and trying not to think how difficult it’s going to be negotiating the treacherous path in the dark.

Louis is so engrossed in his own thoughts that he nearly doesn't see the car coming towards him as he crosses the street and he has to jump out of the way at the last moment, narrowly avoiding twisting his ankle as he stumbles. The car pulls up and the driver jumps out - not to berate Louis as Louis had expected but instead to rush around to the passenger side and open the rear door just as the door of the building the car is parked is front of opens, spilling light and warmth and tinkling laughter into the street. A party of some sorts, that the woman walking down the steps to her car is leaving, a small entourage trailing in her wake.

Louis feels like he’s seen her before, maybe even served her before, but he barely spares her a glance because his attention is focused solely on the man who walks directly behind her, head bowed and collar starkly visible against his throat. 

It's Liam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice there isn't much Harry/Louis interaction in this chapter, and that's deliberate. Louis has a *lot* of issues in this fic and I didn't want Harry to swoop in and "save" him; there are some things Louis needs to work out for himself if he and Harry are going to have any chance at a relationship of equals. They won't be kept apart for long ;)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has a minor epiphany, and he and Harry have a long-overdue conversation as they make plans to rescue Liam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a short non-con flashback in this chapter - nothing that hasn't been referred to before and, while it is short and not particularly explicit, I felt it was important to show the root of some of Louis' issues.

He doesn't stand a chance of keeping up with the car Liam is in; as soon as it pulls away from the kerb Louis knows it's pointless trying to give chase. And even if he did somehow manage to keep up it would only be a good way to get himself caught. So he lets it go, even though it makes him sick to his stomach to watch it disappear from view.

He takes a deep breath and takes stock: he still has the bag he took from Matthew's apartment, he's still mostly ignored by the few people still walking around, and he thinks he knows the way back to his escape route. He looks up at the building Liam came out of to make a mental note of its location and appearance and, as he does so, he has an idea.

He feels extremely exposed as he hurries up the marble steps to the door, and he’s tensed and ready for a shouted challenge at any moment. But it doesn't come, and he makes it all the way into the entrance lobby before a burly security guard steps in to block his way. It's some sort of restaurant - an expensive restaurant, going by the plush carpet and opulent furnishings - and the smell of food makes Louis' mouth water.

"What do you want?" the guard demands.

Louis puts on his most innocent expression. "The lady, who just left..."

The man's eyes narrow. "What about her?"

"Looked like there was something wrong with the wheel of the car, at the back. Like a nail sticking in it."

It's not a very good lie and he takes a step backwards not quite fast enough to avoid the guard grabbing hold of his shirtfront.

"You put something in the tyre?" he growls.

"No!" Louis protests. "No, I just saw it and..." He drops his eyes, deliberately lets himself go limp in the man's grip. "I thought she might be grateful, that's all."

The guard lets him go with a snort. "Gutter scum," he says derisively. "Wait here."

Louis has no intention of moving anyway but he schools himself to look suitably chastised as he waits for the guard to go over to the small security office and call over to someone sitting in there. Louis surreptitiously takes a step closer to the door, so he can hear better over the background noise of the restaurant.

"Yeah, yeah, off St Katharine's Way," the guard is saying. Then, "Probably not. See if you can call someone."

Louis moves back into his original place as the guard comes back, scowling at Louis. "Get out of here," he grunts.

"What about a reward?" Louis asks.

The guard snorts. "How about a punch in the face? Get out."

"Fine." He doesn't care about the lack of reward - he has what he wants anyway - but Louis has to bite down on the furious words threatening to spill out of him. Because this man isn't much better than he is: for all his uniform and the baton hooked onto his belt he's nothing more than a drone, picking at the crumbs falling from the table of the rich and powerful.

"What's in the bag?" the guard asks suddenly. 

Louis runs, straight out of the doors - he's so very, very grateful that they aren't on a lock like the apartment block doors - and down the steps to the street. He hears a shout behind him, and running feet, but Louis is faster and has a head start and he’s fifty yards away before the guard has even made it to street level.

Louis slows down when he's sure he's put a good distance between himself and the guard, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. The streets are virtually deserted, with only the occasional passing car, but he doesn't want to take any chances. If anyone challenges him the only recourse he has is to run again, or try and bluff his way out. 

He takes a left and finds himself on another, busier road. Louis knows he should head back - he has a rough idea of where he is in relation to the entrance to the tunnel, and even if Summer hasn't waited for him he thinks he can hide out until daybreak and then make his own way through the tunnel - but there's something that keeps him walking, sticking close to the shadows and avoiding the brightly-lit bars and restaurants he comes across the closer he gets to the river. 

It’s a world Louis is familiar with, even if he’d only ever lived on the periphery of it. A world where nothing much had ever really changed, except that the people who lived in it had somehow grown richer even as everything else fell apart. For them things continued, for the most part, as they always had. It still continues now. Louis watches people tumbling out of the bars, laughing and joking with one another as they wait for their cars, and he thinks of the grey-faced drones who serve them and the poison behind the glamour and he hates each and every one of them. 

***

The grille creaks alarmingly when he lifts it from its frame and sets it aside, and he tenses for a moment, holding his breath. But no one comes; he can't hear anything.

Louis doesn't hesitate before climbing down into the tunnel. He's cold and he's hungry and he's tired now, his muscles aching from the day's exertions. The thought of curling up in his bed and sleeping for hours is an appealing one - but first he has to wait until dawn and that's hours away yet. 

It's marginally warmer in the tunnel, without the chill wind stealing his body heat, but not by much. Louis hunkers down against the wall, the bag against his side, and tucks his hands between his knees to keep them warm and dry.

He'd considered - briefly - trying to find himself a bed for the night. Outside a theatre a man had eyed him speculatively in a way Louis was extremely familiar with and it had been tempting to fall back into old habits, something he felt comfortable with. But something had held him back, and the moment had passed. He doesn't really regret his decision; if anything, he feels an odd sense of liberation in having made the choice.

It's an odd place to have an epiphany, shivering in the darkness on the bank of an underground river with a bag of stolen property at his side. An odd place to realise that he doesn't have to get on his knees for them, not any more, and the thought is so new and fragile he's almost afraid to think on it too deeply lest it shatter.

Louis doesn't know how long he sits there, lulled by the roar of the water as it churns its way down the final race to the Thames. He sleeps fitfully, never quite falling into a deep sleep but slipping in and out of awareness until eventually he realises that he can distinguish the channel from the banks and make out the arched roof of the tunnel above him and he knows that dawn is approaching. 

He's so, so cold, his limbs stiff from hours sitting in the same position in clothes that are damp with condensation. Louis winces as he gets to his feet and stretches. He's tired and hungry and he wants nothing more to get back and sleep, preferably for a few days. He paces up and down for a while, keeping warm while he waits for it to get light enough for him to attempt the return journey - the last thing he wants is to miss his step and fall into the Fleet. 

It's still semi-dark when he sets off but he can't bring himself to wait any longer. He keeps one hand on the wall, taking careful steps and making sure to stay well away from the water's edge. He remembers that the tunnel makes a few detours - there are other, smaller water courses that drain into the Fleet - but the way Summer brought him is straightforward enough.

It's impossible to judge how far he's walked when he sees movement in the gloom ahead. He freezes instantly. He knows better than to drop down or try to press himself against the wall - the human eye is better at seeing movement than a static shape - but his heart is pounding so loudly he thinks it must be audible for miles.

It's a human, no doubt about that; Louis can see enough to see how it's moving. It's too tall to be Summer. He wishes now he'd thought to take something from Matthew that could be used as a weapon but there's nothing. He tightens his grip on the bag. On the narrow, slippery path, he can put up a fight, at least. 

The figure stops, ten metres or so from Louis. He still can't make out much beyond a general outline but there's something familiar, something he recognises-

-"Louis?"

Louis lets out the breath he'd been holding. "Hey," he says weakly. Then, "What the fuck are you doing here, Harry?"

"Looking for you." Harry comes towards him, clumsy in his haste. "Fuck, Lou ... I thought you were dead."

Louis tenses himself for the inevitable hug but Harry stops, less than an arm's length away. He's practically vibrating with the urge to touch, and Louis takes pity on him.

"Come on then," he says resignedly.

Harry doesn't say anything; he just folds Louis into his arms like he's been starving for contact, all staccato breaths and shaking like he's the one who's been sitting in a freezing tunnel for hours. And maybe he has – his skin is cold to the touch and his clothes are damp too.

"It's ok," Louis mumbles into his shoulder. "It's ok."

Harry just hugs him tighter, and it doesn't feel bad. It doesn't feel constricting. Louis hugs him back as much as he can with one arm and breathes in the warm scent of him and it feels like coming home.

***

“So what are we going to do to get him back?” Niall asks when Louis is finished telling them about Liam.

It’s raining outside, the rain hammering on the tin roof of their little shack. While Louis was away the others were apparently busy, because most of the gaps in the walls have been filled in with mud and stones, cutting out the draughts. It’s still cold and damp, but it’s better than it was before. And with a bellyful of hot soup and one of the bread rolls he took from Matthew, and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Louis doesn’t mind the cold as much. The three of them sit in a tight circle, talking softly by some sort of unspoken agreement.

“I don’t know,” Louis admits. “He has a collar on again. We need to think of a way of getting that off.”

“Easier than done.”

“Yeah.” Louis picks at a loose thread on his shirt. “I know. But we can do it. We’ve done it before; we can do it again.”

“You know where he’s being kept though,” Harry says. “That’s good.”

“It’s not enough,” Louis points out. “We need to have a plan if we’re going to get him out. It- it might not be a quick job.”

“What are you thinking then?” Niall asks.

“I need to go back. Have a look round. Find this place, scout it out a bit, see if there’s a way in.”

“You’re not going back on your own,” Harry protests.

“What, want me to take Summer again?” Louis says acerbically. He sees Niall and Harry exchange glances and he feels a twinge of unease. “She did come back, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Niall assures him. “She came straight back.”

“Right.” Louis doesn’t know whether he feels relieved or insulted that she hadn’t even tried to wait for him to return. It unsettles him a little that they’ve seen no one since they got back; he can hear the normal background hum of the Ratways but the walkways are deserted and no one has come to greet them or ask Louis where he went. He’s not naive enough to think that their return has gone unnoticed either. “What did she say?”

“Only that you’d gone running off after some car, and you were probably dead.” Niall pulls a face. “Of course we thought that was a load of shit. Harry here wanted to come after you once we found out but it was dark by then and, well-“

“I wanted to keep going,” Harry says grumpily.

“You would have fallen in the river. And then I would have fallen in after you.”

“Lads,” Louis interrupts before Harry can respond. “It’s fine. I’m fine. No one fell in the river. And we’re going to get Liam back, yeah?”

They both nod. “You need to sleep though,” Niall says. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Louis yawns. “I feel it.” He nods at the bag he took from Matthew. “Have a look through that; see if there’s anything you want.”

“How the fuck did you get away with that?” Niall asks. “That’s not exactly picking someone’s pocket.”

“I found it,” Louis says. It’s not exactly his best lie ever and he can feel Harry’s eyes on him as he gets to his feet. “Going to bed now. See you later. Don’t wake me unless something important’s happening.”

Ideally he wouldn’t mind another bath, a chance to wash the ghost of Matthew’s touch from his skin, but there’s no running water and no bath. His clothes are filthy though, and in the privacy of his room he uses the shelter of the blanket to strip off. Niall left him a bowl of water and a sliver of soap and he takes the time to shave, reasoning that if things go the way he thinks they will he’s going to need to look the part.

Someone raps on the dividing wall and Louis doesn’t have to look to know it’s Harry. 

“Come in,” he says, not entirely surprised.

What _does_ surprise him is the bowl Harry is carrying, filled to the brim with water that steams gently in the cold air. Harry has a distinctly smug smile on his face that broadens when he sees Louis’ surprise.

“I got you some hot water,” he says.

“I can see that.” Louis clutches the encompassing blanket a little tighter, suddenly wishing he hadn’t stripped off. Harry hasn’t tried to fuck him since the last, disastrous, time and Louis doesn’t know how he’ll react if Harry wants to now. 

“Your back is all scraped. I thought…” Harry trails off uncertainly, his eyes going unerringly to the grip Louis has on the blanket. “I don’t have to. You can do it yourself. If you like.”

Louis doesn’t remember scraping his back, though he hopes it was when he was climbing down into the tunnel and not in bed with Matthew. But Harry’s next words blow away any hope that he might keep what happened secret.

“Who was he?”

“Who was who?” It’s stupid to deny it and Louis regrets it instantly. Harry just looks sad.

“Whoever fucked you.” Harry sets the bowl on the floor and straightens up. 

“It’s none of your business,” Louis says shortly. “But we got clothes, and food, so don’t complain.”

“Was it worth it?”

“What kind of question is that?” 

Harry doesn’t respond and Louis expects him to leave but he doesn’t; he crouches down and starts picking up Louis’ discarded clothes instead.

“For fuck’s sake, Harry,” Louis says exasperatedly. “What are you doing?”

“They’re covered in mud.” Harry doesn’t look up when he speaks. “They need a wash.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“There’s a river. We have soap.”

Louis gives in. “Fine.” He eyes the bowl. “Thanks for the water. Really.”

“I brought a clean cloth.” Harry hands it over without looking at Louis. “Niall’s gone out,” he adds.

“Oh.” There doesn’t seem to be a lot else to say. Louis picks up the bowl and dips the cloth in it. The warm water feels so good against his skin, washing away the sense memory of Matthew's touch.

Harry still doesn’t leave but somehow it’s not as tense between them any more. Louis washes himself carefully, discreetly, and Harry busies himself with tidying and folding and refolding Louis’ clothes. In the end, Louis gives in.

“Fine,” he tells Harry. “You can do my back.”

His hand shakes, just a little, as he hands over the cloth, and he curses himself for it. But Harry doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t try to take advantage. Instead he wets the cloth again and drags it gently across Louis’ back, washing out the scrapes with careful strokes, all the while keeping a tactful distance between them. Louis expects him to step away when he’s done - or try to take things further - but Harry just sets the cloth aside and leans forward to press a kiss to the middle of Louis’ back, between his collarbones. Louis tenses, but Harry is already pulling away.

Harry is halfway to the door when Louis speaks.

“It’s not your fault.” 

Harry stops. “What do you mean?”

“You know. What happened.” Louis looks for a clean t shirt he can sleep in. “It’s not you. Nothing you did.”

Harry turns round, and he looks so utterly wretched it makes Louis’ heart hurt. “Lou, I know what I did,” he says.

“No.” In this, of all things, Louis is very clear. “You _don't_ know. You didn't know. It’s not what you did. It’s- it’s not your fault. It’s me.”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with you-“

“There’s a lot wrong with me,” Louis interrupts. “But that’s not the point. The point is, you didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t the one who, who hurt me. You know that.”

Harry is watching him, very intently. “Why didn’t you tell me though?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you didn’t like it.” Harry’s hand jerks forward, like he wanted to touch Louis but thought better of it at the last moment. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you hated it.”

“I didn’t _hate_ it,” Louis protests. “I liked- I liked being with you.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “But you didn’t … you know.“ He waves a hand expressively.

“No,” Louis admits. “But that, that isn’t anything to do with you. Nothing personal. It just doesn’t, um, happen. I can't. Not any more. I’m not afraid of you. I just- I just don’t deal well with being, with being-“

“Touched?”

“Like that, yeah.” And it’s strange; he’s spent so long resolutely not thinking about any of it, not _remembering_ , but that isn’t an option with Harry, who’s seen the worst of him and still cares even though Louis can’t give him what he wants, and so the words come more easily than he could ever have imagined because he wants Harry to know, wants Harry to understand.

“It was her, you see. Caroline.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry tense up at the mention of her name but he has to get this out before he thinks better of it. “She, she thought it was funny. To take that from me. She said she’d _fix_ me.” His voice breaks a little on the word.

“What did she do?” Harry’s voice is little more than a whisper.

There’s so much he could tell Harry, if he had the words. If he could remember everything she’d ever said to him and every peal of mocking laughter that fell from her lips, every anguished scream that ever came from his mouth. If he could ever do justice to the _way_ she’d done it, to the insidious destruction that was so much more than physical pain.

“What did she do, Lou?” Harry asks again, startling him out of his reverie.

The laugh that comes out of his mouth doesn't sound like his. "This- this is what she wanted, you know. For it to fuck me up. Always. That's what she said to me. That I'd never know what it was like to fuck anyone, only get fucked. And she was right."

"Lou-"

"She was right, Haz. I- I don't know. And I can't."

Harry is silent for a moment. "You don't know that," he says eventually. "Maybe, at some point, I mean, we don't have to rush anything or, you know, it doesn't have to be me. Whoever you want really."

There's a sour taste in Louis' mouth. "I don't want your _pity_ , Harry."

"I don't pity you," Harry says at once. "You're the bravest person I've ever met."

"Don't be ridiculous," Louis scoffs.

"It's true." Harry leans forward, staring at Louis intently. "You are brave, and you're _good_. You're a good person, Louis."

"You're talking shit," Louis says hoarsely. 

Harry smiles sadly. "I'm not, but I know you don't believe me."

"Fine." Louis sits down on his bed and pushes the blanket back, lets Harry get a good look at the bruises on his hips where Matthew held him. "You wanted to know what happened? _This_ is what happened. And you know what, I realised today that I don't have to do this any more, they can't make me do it any more.”

“Lou-”

“Shut _up_. It changes nothing, ok. It doesn't change what's happened. It doesn't change what I am.”

Harry pales but he doesn't look away; Louis has got to give him that. "You did what you had to," he says, and it's that quiet acceptance, more than anything, that finally breaks Louis.

"Get out," he says.

Harry goes. 

***

Somewhere between dawn and dusk, Louis dreams of her.

He’s kneeling on a footstool, naked, listening to the click-click of her heels on the wooden floor as she paces behind him. He bites his lip as he reluctantly fists his half-hard cock, already painfully sore from the hours she’s been toying with him.

 _Come on, Louis_ , she says against his ear. He breathes in her cloying perfume and wants to gag. _Be a good boy for me._

He closes his eyes, trying to think of something - anything - to distract himself from the raw friction of skin on skin. She makes a soft sound of disappointment and he hears her walk over to the table at the other end of the room.

The air is cold but his skin feels superheated; he gasps when she touches him, her hand slick and warm against his cock. Involuntarily he moans, bucking into her touch, and she laughs.

_Good boy, Louis. Good boy. Look at you now, getting hard for me properly._

She steps back, lets him take himself in hand again.

 _Maybe this time I’ll let you finish_ , she says, running her finger between his collar and the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck. He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to see as she circles him, as a camera shutter clicks repeatedly.

 _You like this, don’t you_ , she says, and he bites his lip again and nods.

She laughs, sharp and bright, and he has a split-second’s warning before the first strike of the cane connects with his balls and the world explodes into searing, sickening agony. He topples to the floor, clutching himself and nearly vomiting from the pain, and the camera clicks and she laughs, taunting him as he struggles to obey her command to get back on the footstool, the tears streaming down his face.

And then it starts all over again.

 _Don’t be stupid enough to think you’ll ever get away from this, Louis_ , she tells him. _Do you think Harry really wants you like this? You’re a pity fuck, nothing more. A broken toy only useful for being fucked. That’s all you’ll ever be to anyone. By the time I’ve finished with you that will be all you’re ever good for_. _You only exist on my terms._

She draws back her hand to slap him in the face - she likes doing that, likes the simple humiliation of it - and Louis wakes up, drenched in sweat and shivering with terror and shame.

The first thing he does is stumble outside and throw up over the railing into the dock basin.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. He carefully straightens up, grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth. 

He knows it was a dream. He knows Caroline never said those words, not those words exactly; not in that order, anyway. And he knows, too, that the dream is nothing more than the product of his mind trying to make sense of his conversation with Harry and Matthew and his epiphany in the tunnel. He remembers reading somewhere that dreams are supposed to bring order to chaotic conscious thoughts but it doesn’t feel much like order in his head right now. It feels more like a leaden sickness in his stomach and a whole lot of thoughts in his head he doesn't know how to deal with.

He notices, belatedly, that it’s raining, and he goes back inside before he gets any more soaked. Harry is sitting on the bed he shares with Niall; it says a lot for the state Louis was in that he hadn’t even noticed him there on the way out.

“Hey,” Harry says.

“Hey yourself.” 

Louis tries to surreptitiously look around for something to drink but it seems he's not as discreet as he thinks as he is because Harry silently hands him a cup of water.

“Thanks,” Louis says awkwardly.

“You're welcome.”

“Niall out?”

“Yeah.” Harry's hand twitches against the blankets. “Arki wants to see you.”

Something in Louis' stomach twists and coils. “What about?”

Harry shrugs. “Don't know. Maybe he wants to know how it went, from someone other than Summer.”

“Right, yeah.” Louis goes through to his room and starts searching for a clean shirt to wear.

“You don't have to go, you know.”

Louis doesn't turn round. “I know.” Harry doesn't have to spell it out; it's obvious from his tone of voice that he knows what Louis has been doing, and Louis doesn't bother asking how he found out, whether he guessed or whether someone else told him. Louis isn't ashamed, not exactly, because he doesn't think he has much more dignity to lose where Harry is concerned, but he doesn't want Harry to worry about him unnecessarily. “I can deal with him.”

“Are you going to...” Harry trails off.

“I don't know,” Louis admits. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends how much he wants to make an issue of it.”

“You don't have to.” His voice is louder; Louis thinks he's a step, maybe two, into the room. “You're better than that.”

“Better than _what_ , Harry?” Louis does turn around then, because he wants to push Harry out of the room so he can change. “I think we've established what I am – and that's ok.”

“It's not o-”

“It is what it is,” Louis cuts him off. “There's nothing to talk about, ok? What matters right now is getting Liam out, and that means we have to make a plan, we have to scout out where he is, work out how we're going to get him out. And we need _time_ for that. We need to have somewhere to live until we can get everything in place.”

“And that's here?” 

“That's here,” Louis confirms. “For now. I'm not saying it's going to be like this always. But for now, we need them. We need Arki. We need to keep him on side, Harry.”

Harry pulls a face. “Ok,” he says reluctantly. The word seems dragged out of him. “Are you going now?”

“Might as well get it over with.” He thinks about adding something like _don't wait up_ but he thinks that might make a bad situation even worse. “I'll be fine, Harry,” he says instead.

He takes some – not much – of the food from Matthew's with him when he goes. It's a peace offering, a bargaining tool, but he's aware of being watched again as he makes his way through the Ratways, head ducked down to protect his face from the rain, feet slipping and sliding on the sodden walkways.

The fire in Arki's quarters is like a furnace: Louis is half-convinced steam is going to start coming off his rain-soaked clothes. He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it over a stone protrusion next to the fire before removing his shoes.

“Make yourself at home,” Arki remarks. He sounds amused rather than irritated.

“Thanks,” Louis says. He indicates the parcel of food he's placed by the door. “That's for you.”

“A gift? How kind.”

“Don't eat it all at once.” Louis straightens up and starts to pull off his shirt. “It went all right. I want to go back.”

Arki leans back in his chair. “You don't need my permission. Although I do wonder what makes you so eager to walk into the lion's den.”

Louis snorts. “Hardly. There's no fucking security. Or,” he amends. “Not much.”

“Summer sees things a little differently,” Arki says mildly.

“Summer turned and ran; I don't want her with me next time.” Louis kicks away the last of his clothes and walks over to Arki. “Do you want to risk her pushing me into the river?”

Arki chuckles as Louis straddles his lap and his hands slide over Louis' hips to hold him steady. “Did she try?”

“Not this time.”

“The girl lacks ambition.” Arki's voice cracks a little as Louis grinds down against him. “Unlike you, little rooster.”

“I can stop, if you like.”

Arki laughs, low and choked-off. He lifts a hand and gets hold of a handful of Louis' hair, and tugs Louis' head back. “Get into my bed,” he says. “We'll talk later.”

“Ok.” Louis isn't enough of an amateur to try and nod while someone is holding his hair. Arki shakes him a little, just to make his point, and then releases his grip so that Louis can stand up.

Arki watches him as he does so, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What?” Louis says, somewhat defensively. Arki doesn’t seem to be looking at the marks Matthew left, so it isn’t any sort of jealousy as far as Louis can tell. He can’t imagine how Arki could possibly know about Liam.

“Something’s different about you.” Arki says. He shakes his head. “I can’t quite put my finger on what.”

“You can put your finger wherever you like,” Louis shoots back, and Arki laughs.

“And some things are the same. Bed, now. Perhaps later you’ll tell me what goes on in that head of yours.”

“Maybe I will,” Louis says, with no intention of doing anything of the sort. 

***

Louis gets out of the car and brushes off his clothing as the door is closed behind him and the car pulls away from the kerb. He takes a quick look around but the street is deserted - it’s three am - and the single solitary streetlight doesn’t so much light the darkness as illuminate the shadows. 

Louis grins to himself. Three steps takes him to the mouth of an alleyway that is even darker than the street, but he knows where he’s going and his fingers unerringly close around the cold metal of the ladder.

“You’re late,” Niall grumbles as Louis swings a leg over the parapet at the top and drops down onto the flat roof.

“I am not late.” Louis gratefully takes the flask of water Niall is offering and swills his mouth out. “I was busy.”

Niall doesn’t say anything. He has a little nest of blankets and stolen clothes set up in the corner of the roof, protected from the elements with plastic cable-tied to some old mesh fencing they’d found laid out on the roof. It’s not elegant but it’s a good temporary shelter.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Over there.” Niall points to the neighbouring building, where the roof space has proved a useful source of building material. “He’ll be back in a minute. Want something to eat? There’s muffins. Kind of.”

Louis accepts one of the kind-of-muffins and takes a tentative bite. “This isn’t bad. Where did you get it?”

“Rachel gave them to me.” Niall sounds mildly embarrassed and Louis is at once intrigued.

“Rachel?”

“You know, the one with the red hair. Lives behind that bit of pier across from our place.”

Louis tries to picture the girl Niall means. He hasn’t really got to know other denizens of the Ratways the way Niall and Harry have. “And she bakes for you, does she?”

“It’s not like that,” Niall mumbles. Now he really does sound embarrassed. “She doesn’t- not like that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Niall,” Louis scolds as he makes himself comfortable in the shelter.

“Harry’s coming back.” Niall sounds relieved for the distraction and Louis doesn’t press but he smiles to himself in the darkness. He holds his breath for a moment, waiting for the soft thud that means Harry has jumped across the narrow but treacherous gap between the two buildings.

“Got anything good?” Niall asks.

“Some wire, a bit of plastic,” Harry says. He sounds out of breath. “I think we’ve had the good stuff though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis says. “We’re not staying here for long. As long as it keeps the rain off, it’s all good.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, sounding unconvinced. 

“How long are we staying here?” Niall asks.

It’s a good question, one Louis isn’t entirely ready to answer. In the week that’s passed since he first saw Liam, they’ve tracked him - and his owner - down to an apartment close to the Thames, in a narrow strip of land behind the Tower of London. Louis has seen Liam again twice, but he hadn’t dared get close enough to let Liam see him: the last thing he wants is to get Liam in trouble or put his owner on her guard. The only good thing, as far as Louis is concerned, is that Liam looks relatively healthy and cared-for.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “We need to think of a way of getting in closer. We need to know more about the security arrangements, then we can think about how to get that collar off him, get him out of there.”

Harry squats down next to him. “How are we going to do it?”

“I’m working on that.”

Niall, balanced on the parapet, calls them over before Harry can respond. Louis gets to his feet and goes over to him, spotting at once what Niall has seen.

“Same place, do you think?” he asks as they stare at the rosy glow on the horizon.

“No; it was over there a bit yesterday.” Niall turns his head, like he’s trying to catch the scent of the distant flames. 

“Heard any planes go over?”

“Not one.” 

“There’s-” Harry never gets to finish his sentence: before he can go on a pinprick of light a few degrees eastwards blossoms and brightens into a column of flame that burns high and bright for nearly a minute before dying back to a smaller conflagration. 

“It’s closer,” Niall says. “Whatever it is.”

“It’s been a cold winter,” Louis says. He feels colder, all of a sudden. “Maybe they’re just burning things to keep warm.”

“You think that’s a fucking _bonfire_?” Niall asks incredulously. “There’s no one out there, or there shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to burn.”

“I _think_ it’s something that doesn’t concern us,” Louis snaps, stung. “It’s Liam we need to worry about, not twats setting fire to stuff. I’m going back down there. Harry, get back into the machine room for the lifts and see if you can find anything else useful. Niall, get the shelter finished. Then we’ll go for a walk.”

“A walk,” Niall says flatly, but he doesn’t argue.

It doesn’t take Louis long to pick up another stranger in an expensive car who’s in the market for something quick and dirty. Louis doesn’t pretend to understand it - any one of them could afford to buy ten slaves to do their every bidding if they so chose - but he’s not complaining. Louis picks this one’s pocket while he’s sucking his cock and congratulates himself on his multi-tasking skills as he steps out of the car with an expensive watch and a small box that proves to contain a woman’s diamond engagement ring. Louis tucks them away in his pocket and wipes his mouth before going back to the alleyway.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Harry says as he steps out of the shadows with Niall at his side. He hands over the flask of water.

“It keeps Arki off our backs if we have something to take back,” Louis says shortly. “And anyway, I got something better than some shiny jewellery.”

“What?”

“This.” Louis holds up a small plastic rectangle. “Was on the floor. Fell out of his jacket, I think.”

“And it is…?” Niall prompts. “It’s dark, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s an identity card. One of theirs.”

Niall laughs, a short bark of laughter that sounds shockingly loud on the quiet street. “That’s fucking gold dust.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “Not much good for me, or you. But it’s not a bad match for Harry.” He looks over at Harry. “If you’re up for it.”

Harry snorts. “I’m up for it,” he says. 

“Good. Then let’s go for a walk.”

They walk, heading south following the line of the river, away from the quiet, mostly undamaged buildings and into streets that are now mostly abandoned and bulldozed to rubble, overgrown with weeds. There are no street lights here, but the sky is clear enough that they can walk safely by the light of the moon.

“Funny,” Harry remarks as they zigzag around an open patch of land that would leave them far too exposed for anyone’s liking. “This used to be the centre of government, all round here, and look at it now.”

“I’ve seen pictures,” Niall says. “Not much left now, is there?”

Louis doesn’t say anything. He remembers seeing pictures too, pictures in an old magazine his mother had read with him once when he’d been very small, and the memory brings it all back: the warmth of her arm around him, the subtle scent of her that said _home_ and _safe_. She’d let him look at the pictures while she pointed out each landmark, naming them in turn and telling him about them. Big Ben, the Palace of Westminster, Westminster Abbey: soaring symbols of power, of wealth, of permanency, and of a thousand years of history that had, in the end, fallen before a scrap of RNA. 

All he smells now is earth.

Louis stops. In the distance he can hear the steady lap of the Thames against its banks and nothing else. The lights and sounds of the City are very far away: they might as well be the only living humans in the world. He’s been deliberately not thinking about Zayn lately but he has a strange sense of him tonight, like he’s there just out of Louis’ peripheral vision. It’s not an unsettling feeling - if anything, it’s comforting. And if it’s his imagination mixed in with a little wishful thinking then Louis will take the comfort where he can find it.

“We’re going to be ok,” he tells the others quietly. “Whatever happens. We’re going to get Liam and we’re going to be ok.”

They don’t say anything but Harry touches his arm, very gently, and together they begin to walk back the way they came.

Louis isn’t superstitious, as a rule. He doesn’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural in general but he can’t explain the sense of dread that suddenly washes over him, or the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and it occurs to him that they’re standing in the middle of what is, effectively, a graveyard.

“Let’s get back,” he says uneasily, quickening his pace so the others have to speed up too. “It’ll start getting light soon and we don’t want to be stuck out here.”

“What’s that noise?” Harry asks, and Louis is about to tell him off for imagining things when he hears it too: a helicopter, flying fast and low and getting closer by the second.

“Run,” he says urgently, and he takes off for the nearest cover, still fifty yards away when the helicopter turns on its spotlight and roars towards them in a whirlwind of noise and fury. And then something punches him in the small of the back and he tumbles to the ground, only dimly aware of Harry falling next to him.


	15. Chapter 15

Louis wakes up to the taste of blood and soil in his mouth and a sharp pain in his shoulder. Groaning, he rolls onto his side, and as he does so he realises how much trouble they’re in.

He reaches over and jabs Harry in the arm, and then repeats the action for Niall.

“What?” Niall demands querulously, shaking his head and starting to push himself up onto all fours before Louis grabs hold of his arm.

“Stay down!” he hisses.

“What happened?” Harry sounds dazed.

“We’re in the shit.” Louis scowls to himself. “Again.” He has to raise his voice, almost yelling as the helicopter roars overhead, so close Louis imagines he could reach up and touch it. The blinding glare of its searchlight lances out across the wasteland, passing metres from the shallow crater they’ve tumbled into, lighting up the packed-down rubble and the tendrils of mist snaking across the uneven ground.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Niall shouts.

“No shit!” Louis pushes himself up a little and squints at their surroundings. The searchlight has ruined his night vision but the helicopter is sweeping north, still flying slowly in what Louis guesses is a systematic search pattern. If it comes round for another pass it’s almost a certainty that they’ll be seen. “Come on!”

A wave of nausea washes over him as he gets to his feet; his head doesn’t hurt but Louis knows he was knocked out for a few seconds at least. He grits his teeth: they have to run even if he wants nothing more than to curl up and sleep. 

"Go!"

There's no argument; the three of them set off running across the wasteland as fast as they dare as the helicopter banks into a turn. The ground is uneven though, and it feels like tortuously slow progress, not nearly fast enough to evade the oncoming whirlwind. Louis doesn't dare turn his head to look but he hears the helicopter approaching, feels the rush of air of the downdraft, and knows they're seconds from being caught in the merciless glare of the searchlight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Niall stumble and fall. Louis doesn't even think about it; he stops at once and grabs at Niall's arm, trying to pull him back to his feet. Niall's shouting something and Louis can't make out the words but he can _see_ him, every inch of his face lit up as clear as day.

They've been found.

"Move!" Louis yells desperately as the engine note changes, like a triumphant wasp. Somewhere up above them he thinks a gunner is probably lining up on them right now, his crosshairs centered on Louis' back.

Harry's there too, suddenly, getting hold of Niall's other arm and helping Louis pull him up. Louis hadn't even noticed him stop. Niall's face contorts in pain as they get him on his feet and Louis notes with a strange abstraction that his leg looks _wrong_ but there's no time to stop and worry about it as the helicopter swings away - perhaps, he thinks hysterically - lining up for a better kill.

He tightens his grip on Niall's arm and starts to move, trusting that the others will follow his lead. And they do - it's more of an awkward lurch than a run and he's sure the helicopter will find them again in seconds but Louis isn't going to wait to be gunned down. 

Another punch in the back sends them all stumbling forward, but the explosion isn't as close this time, doesn't knock them down completely. Louis shudders as they're pelted with soil and pieces of rubble thrown into the air by the force of the blast but they're still alive, and he isn't entirely sure how. He risks a look back and immediately sees why the helicopter is having difficulty aiming accurately at them.

The mist is still almost insubstantial at ground level but above head height it's rapidly thickening, drifting in from the river, covering the wasteland in a thick, smothering blanket of fog. It's a miracle of sorts, and not one Louis is going to waste. He yanks on Niall's arm, encouraging him to move, and they set off again in an awkward, lopsided run. He has no idea how far they've run, or in what direction: all that matters is that they're running away from the helicopter. Louis' muscles ache and his lungs are burning and he counts out his steps in his head, trying to distract himself from the discomfort. 

_One, two, three, four. One, two, three, fou-_

They nearly stumble straight into the wall, only stopping just in time. His night vision is still ruined but Louis carefully feels over the obstruction and decides it was probably some sort of memorial, once upon a time. For now, it's shelter, and he gets Niall sat down, propped up against the wall, and collapses at his side.

"Everyone ok?"

"Yeah," Harry says from Niall's other side.

"My knee fucking hurts," Niall says.

They all go silent as the noise of the helicopter gets louder again. Louis isn't quite so worried about being seen any more - the fog is so dense above head height now he doubts they can see much of anything and as far as he can tell the helicopter is higher above the ground than it was before - but he still holds his breath until the engine note changes and then begins to fade as the helicopter banks away.

"Are they giving up?" Harry asks.

"Maybe." Louis tries to remember what little he knows about helicopters. "I don't think they can fly in fog? Not easily, anyway. Is it getting any better, Niall?"

"No," Niall says tightly.

Louis reaches over and, through fumbling in the darkness, manages to locate Niall's arm to squeeze. "We'll give it a couple more minutes, make sure they've gone, and then we'll get out of here, ok?"

"Do you think it's broken?" Harry breaks off half way through the sentence and coughs, a rattling, wheezing cough Louis doesn't much like the sound of. 

"I don't know," Niall says. "Don't think there's anything sticking out."

"That'll do," Louis says, aware that he's sounding harsher than he might otherwise choose to be. He can't be easy on them now though, not while they're still in danger. "We'll get you out of here. Take deep breaths.”

Niall laughs; it's tinged with pain. "Never thought they'd blow us up. Thought they'd just snap our necks."

"Hey, it's called going out in style." Louis squints around, trying to get his bearings. Now that the first flush of adrenaline is wearing off he's becoming acutely aware of how cold he is and how many little scrapes and bruises he has. "Harry, can you see anything?"

"No." Harry still sounds a little out of breath. “Nothing. Maybe they have given up.”

“No, I don't think so. They know we’re here,” Louis says grimly. “They’re not just going to give up. They're just thinking of another way to get us.” The fog is sinking towards the ground; _suffocating_ , he thinks.

“What are we going to do then?”

Louis reaches over to touch Niall’s arm again. “How are you doing?”

“It’s ok,” Niall says. “It’s better.” It’s clearly _not_ but it’s going to have to do.

“Ok, well, we can’t stay here. We’re going to have to keep moving. We’re sitting ducks here. All they have to do is wait for this fog to lift, or wait until dawn. If we’re still here then, it’s all over.”

“I’ll help Niall,” Harry says. “You go ahead, Louis, and find us a way.”

“I’m not getting too far ahead,” Louis says, slightly taken aback by Harry’s forcefulness. But pleased, too, because it’s a confidence he hasn’t seen in Harry before. “But yeah, ok. Just say something if I’m going too fast.”

"I'm fucking freezing," Niall says grumpily. "Can we just get moving? The fog's getting worse."

Louis snorts, but it's out of relief more than anything: if Niall is complaining then Louis thinks he probably isn't that badly hurt.

"I could carry you," Harry offers. He sounds deadly serious.

"Don't even think about it," Louis says firmly. "The pair of you would probably end up in the Thames."

He can hear the helicopter again, making long, sweeping passes over the wasteland. Its crew is no longer using the searchlight, perhaps realising that the fog renders it virtually useless. It takes Louis a moment to realise what they're doing.

"We _really_ need to get out of here," he tells the others, getting his arm around Niall's waist to help into his feet. "Now."

They don't question him: Harry takes Niall's weight and steadies him as Louis carefully feels his way around the bulk of the memorial. The fog is completely disorientating and all he can do is keep them moving away from the noise of the helicopter in as much of a straight line as he can manage. There's no question of crawling on all fours – Niall's injury makes that impossible – but at least moving slowly so the others can keep up means he has less chance of tripping over something on the ground. 

Louis takes a deep breath, a quick glance behind him to check that the fog is as impenetrable as ever, and then he strikes out from the memorial.

He immediately regrets it. The fog is like a living creature, a malevolent, writhing thing, its tendrils wrapping around them hungrily like a beast hunting its prey. Louis feels the same sense of claustrophobic constriction he felt in the tunnels below London, the same sense of oxygen being slowly squeezed from his lungs. It would be so easy to give in to the panic that threatens to overwhelm him, to give up his tenuous hold on rational thought, and run, just run, leaving the others behind — _deadweight_ , he thinks with something like hysteria.

He doesn't run.

It could be half a mile, it could be a hundred yards: the fog and the darkness make it impossible to judge the distance they've covered but suddenly it's tarmac underfoot, rather than rubble. Cracked, crumbling tarmac, but a real road nonetheless. Civilisation. Louis edges forward carefully, and nearly cries with relief when the outline of a building emerges out of the gloom.

"In here, quick."

It's half-ruined; the roof is long gone and the walls are beyond repair, but it's shelter and they huddle gratefully into a corner of the first room they come to, Niall in the middle. Louis isn't sure he'd care if it was occupied or not, but as far as he can tell there are no signs of human habitation.

"Everyone ok?"

They both mumble an agreement. Niall sounds exhausted, Harry a little less so.

"This fog is insane," Niall says. "How the fuck did it come down so quickly?"

"It's just close to the river," Louis says. He feels sick, a strange, sharp taste in the back of his mouth.

"London used to have fog like this, back in the 50s or something," Harry pipes up.

"Yeah, that was when there were loads of factories and stuff, and everyone was burning coal. When there were enough people burning coal to choke everything up. How many people do you think there are left in London now?"

"There's stuff on fire."

"Miles away." Louis says dismissively. He yawns. "Get some sleep, lads. We're not going any further for a while. Might as well rest up."

He closes his eyes, convinced he won't sleep at all, but somehow he does. Not for long - twenty minutes, half an hour - but enough to wipe away the sick feeling and the light-headedness that he'd carried since they'd been knocked down. His head hurts now, but his mind is clear and for some reason he feels better than he has in a while.

It’s still pitch dark. Niall is asleep, snoring softly on his shoulder. Harry is-

"You ok?" he asks cautiously.

"Just went for a piss," Harry says as he slides back into his spot at Niall's side.

"Did you have a look around?"

"Not really." Harry's voice still sounds a little hoarse but he isn't wheezing the way he was before. "I didn't want to go far." He coughs, muffling the sound with his hand. "I couldn't see anything though. Or hear anything."

“Good.” Louis shifts uncomfortably. The ground is hard and cold and he knows the temperature is going to drop further before the sun rises. He makes a quick decision. “We need to get moving.”

He feels Harry’s jerk of surprise in the movement of Niall’s body against him. “I thought we were staying here?”

“We were,” he says shortly. “But we need to move. It’s cold and if Niall’s hurt we need to get him somewhere warm. At least now the streets are empty. If we wait until dawn we’re going to stand out a mile.”

There's a moment of silence before Harry says, "Maybe one day we can go one day without somebody trying to kill us."

Louis snorts. "One day, maybe." He leans over to poke Harry in the arm. "Hey, it's excitement, right? You wouldn't want to live a boring life."

"I'd like to have the choice," Harry says.

"Yeah, well." Louis levers himself up from the cold ground. "Part of being a slave is not having any choices. That's what you signed up to. Or got signed up to."

"We're not slaves now," Harry says mildly.

"Might as well be." Louis stretches, wincing a little. "At least then we'd have food and a warm bed."

"You don't believe that."

Louis squints at him, wishing it was light enough to see his face. "What, that we had food?"

"That we'd be better off as slaves." Harry coughs again, before adding, "I know you don't believe that."

"Why, Harry? Why do you think that? Because you think I'm _better than that_?" Louis hates the way his voice cracks a little on the final word. “Are we doing this again?”

"You _are_ better than that," Harry says after a brief hesitation. "You don't deserve any of the things they did to you. _No one_ deserves that. And you don't have to pay for what they did."

He sounds so _sincere_ : Louis hates it. He turns away. "Come on. Wake Niall up. We need to go."

"Lou-"

"We'll talk about it later, Harry."

Niall swears colourfully and at length when Harry wakes him up, until Louis presses a finger against his mouth and tells him to be quiet. He doesn't ask about the leg, and Niall doesn't volunteer any information.

The going is a little easier now that they're in a built-up area, as they can feel their way along the buildings, or what remains of the buildings. The eerie silence is grating on Louis's nerves; surely, he thinks, they should have encountered some signs of civilisation by now. The parts of the city that are still occupied are never entirely quiet, even at night, but he can't even see any streetlights.

"Is the power out?" Harry asks from behind him.

"Must be. I can't see anything."

They stumble their way along street after street and still there is no sign of human habitation. Louis is just about at the point of suspecting alien abduction when he hears what are indisputably human footsteps up ahead.

"Down," he hisses at the others, and he grabs Niall's arm to pull them into the shelter of a run-down building. They press themselves against the crumbling walls, as far into the shadows as they can get, as the footsteps get closer and louder. There’s no mistaking what they are: the soldiers Louis has been expecting.

"Fuck," Louis breathes as an order is yelled, far too close for comfort, and the cohort comes to a halt. Without being able to see, it's impossible to be sure how close they are but Louis thinks they're just a few metres away from their hiding place, and if the soldiers start to search the buildings now there's no way they won't be caught.

Cautiously he leans forward, craning his neck until he can peer around a stone outcropping, and what he sees confirms his worst fears: there's a squad of perhaps twenty soldiers lined up in formation on the street outside, each one carrying a rifle fitted with a small, shaded torch. The light of these doesn't go far but gives enough illumination for Louis to make out the figure of an officer pacing to the front of the formation, a smaller, slighter figure at his side.

"We'll fan out and start working our way towards the river,” the officer says in a quiet, clipped voice. “You know what to do. They're injured. They won't put up much of a fight.”

The smaller figure says, "When do I get my money?"

The officer snorts; his hand moves too quickly for it to be any more than a blur to Louis but he sees Summer fall to the ground.

"You'll get your money when we find them and no sooner, gutter scum,” the man sneers. “That was the deal."

He barks an order to the squad and they start moving again, heading towards the river. The officer regards Summer for a moment before shaking his head and setting off after his soldiers.

It's dark again when they've gone but Louis can hear Summer, her soft, snuffling sobs as she gets to her feet. What little sympathy Louis might have had for her is entirely subsumed by the white-hot rage arcing through his veins at her betrayal. He'd known that she had no love for him and suspected that she would not have shed a tear if he hadn't returned from their first expedition, but selling them out to their mutual enemies is something else entirely.

And now he can't help wondering how far the treachery spreads, whether she's acting under orders or taking her own initiative.

He's half-expecting one or both of the others to ask what's going on but by some miracle both of them seem to realise that this isn't the time to draw attention to their presence. Louis cautiously leans forward a little more, trying to see whether Summer has gone or not, but he can't see anything. He can't hear anything either.

Making a quick decision, Louis reaches back and presses his hand first against Niall's arm and then Harry's, silently instructing them to stay where they are. Once he sure they're not going to follow him, he ducks down and starts inching his way along the wall so he can get a better look at the last place he saw Summer. It's slow going; he has to feel his way along the ground so he doesn't trip over anything or dislodge anything that might give away his position. 

Louis glances back at where he left Harry and Niall. Satisfied that they're safely hidden in the shadows, he edges out onto the street, staying low and close to a pile of rubble in front of the building.

He still can't hear anything. He can't see anything. Surely, he thinks, she must have followed the soldiers. There's no reason for her to stay around: she's either followed the soldiers on their search, or she's given up on the promise of payment and headed back towards safer ground. He wouldn't blame her for that; he doesn't think the soldiers are going to be very happy when they don't find their quarry on the banks of the river.

Louis looks around again, weighing his options. He still can't hear or see any sign of the soldiers. He takes a deep breath and gets to his feet. Moving slowly and carefully, he walks towards the last place he saw Summer.

There's no sign of her. Louis reaches out, waves his hands through the air where he thinks she might be. Nothing. He exhales, almost giddy with relief.

That relief lasts about ten seconds.

"I don't know how you've lived this long," she hisses. The sharp point of her knife presses against the small of his back. "Where are the others?"

Louis goes very still, very aware of just how close to his spine the blade is. One hard thrust and he's paralysed and at her mercy. "We got separated," he lies.

"Obviously. Where are they?"

"I told you: we got separated," Louis says, raising his voice a little. With any luck Harry and Niall can hear this conversation. "You sold us out," he adds accusingly.

"Yes," Summer says. She sounds entirely unrepentant.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

“How did you find u- me?”

She snorts. “You're not difficult to follow, you know.”

Louis starts to shift his position and immediately thinks better of it when Summer increases the pressure on the knife and he feels skin part. "Watch it,” he says. “You're not going to get much money for us if we're dead."

Summer snickers. "That's where you're wrong. Do you really think they want you alive? You're runaway slaves. When they catch you, if you're lucky they'll kill you outright. If you're unlucky they'll take you back so they can kill you slowly."

Louis takes a careful, shallow breath. He can feel a trickle of blood running down his back. "And that's what you want for us, is it?"

"Why should I give a fuck about you? I hope it is slow."

"You helped us once," Louis points out. "Does Arki know about this?"

Instead of answering, she says, "He'll miss his little toy. But he'll get over it. Now stop pissing around and tell me where the others are."

"You've already told me the going to be killed, so what in-"

He never finishes his sentence: something barrels out of the darkness and slams into summer, knocking her to the ground and away from Louis and leaving Louis reeling. There are some brief sounds of a struggle and then nothing.

Louis very cautiously turns round. He can hear breathing, harsh and panting. "Hello?" He says, immediately feeling like an idiot for making himself sound like every victim in every horror movie ever.

The _something_ moves again, towards him this time, but instead of the attack he's anticipating he's pulled into a close, urgent hug.

_Harry._

"I'm okay," he mumbles against Harry's shoulder. "I'm okay. Stop crushing me."

Harry's grip loosens a little but he doesn't let go of Louis. A hand comes to rest against the side of Louis's face, fingers cupping his head, the thumb stroking over Louis's cheekbone. The touch is so gentle yet so frantic with worry and concern that Louis doesn't even think to react in any other way except to bring his own hand up to pet Harry's hair.

"What did you do to her?" he asks.

"I think she hit her head," Harry mumbles. He's shaking, and Louis thinks he's probably having all kinds of flashbacks to Caroline. 

"Good," Louis says ruthlessly, and then, because Harry is still shaking, he turns his head just enough to press a kiss to Harry's thumb. "I'm fine, you big idiot. And you don't need to give a fuck about her; she's a fucking psychopath. Where's Niall?"

“O-over there.”

“Ok. Ok, we're good. Harry, we're good. We're fine.” Louis gently disengages from Harry. “You go and get Niall, yeah? We need to get out of here.”

Harry takes a shuddering breath. “Ok,” he mumbles.

Louis waits until he's sure Harry is well away before he crouches down and carefully feels around until he finds Summer, unconscious but breathing. He hesitates, dark, awful thoughts crowding his mind.

He can't do it though. Even though she might raise the alarm if she wakes up, he can't bring himself to ensure she never comes round. She's young – so young – and every bit as much of a victim of this, of everything, as they are and he can't blame her for trying to survive as best she can, for fighting to gain any advantage she can. He locates the knife, lying a few inches from her body, and pockets it, and stands up as Harry returns with Niall in tow.

“Let's get out of here.”

“We don't take her?”

“We don't take her.”

Supporting Niall between them, they start walking, towards habitation and an uncertain dawn.

***

One day, Louis thinks as he half-runs, half-stumbles down a rain-soaked alleyway supporting Niall's weight with an arm that already feels numb as he tries to keep his balance on the slippery, uneven cobblestones. One day without someone trying to kill them would be great.

"Leave me," Niall grunts.

"No fucking way." They all lurch sideways as Harry skids on a patch of moss. "Keep moving."

They turn another corner. Louis is losing track of where they are now, his mental map of the inhabited parts of London not up to the job of keeping track of their frantic dash. He can only hope that he isn't leading them into a blind alley.

"I think we're losing them." Harry wheezes.

Louis doesn't waste breath telling him he's wrong; he can hear their pursuers, closer now, and he knows this chase doesn't have long to run. They're exhausted, worn down by physical exertion and hunger and cold, and it's only a matter of time before their reserves of strength are exhausted.

"This way," he gasps, dragging them down another, narrower alleyway, out of the relentless driving rain. It's barely wide enough for them to be able to move three abreast and it reeks of sewage and decay but Louis can see daylight at the end of it and he can only hope that their pursuers might not realise where they've gone.

They stumble out of the alleyway, nearly falling over themselves, and come very close to falling into the road. Louis automatically throws out a hand to break his fall and it's only after his hand has made contact with the very expensive car parked at the kerb that his brain catches up with what his eyes are seeing.

The tall, dark stranger – and a part of Louis' brain that isn't numb with terror and exhaustion smirks at the cliché – is quicker on the uptake. He looks at the three of them, frowning, and then he looks at the alleyway they’ve emerged from, and seems to come to a decision. He opens the door of the car.

"Quick, get in,” he says in a soft but authoritative tone. “Down on the floor; they won’t see you there.“

Louis can hear the sounds of pursuit from the alleyway: they're out of options. He dives into the car, ending up awkwardly wedged in the foot well with Niall half on top of him and Harry lying across the back seat. The stranger throws his coat over them and shuts the door. It's not much of a hiding place but somehow it's enough because Louis hears their pursuers emerge onto the street and pass them by without even looking in the car.

He wants to laugh. Or cry.

The driver's door opens and the car rocks as someone gets in and shuts the door. Louis hopes it’s the same man.

"Stay down." The stranger doesn't seem to be much of a talkative type. "They might come back."

The engine is a low rumble as the car pulls away from the kerb. Something is sticking into Louis' back and his legs are going numb from Niall's weight on them but for whatever reason they're safe, for now. Tentatively he slides a hand up under the coat and feels around until he finds Harry's hand and squeezes their fingers together.

Hidden as they are, there's no way of getting his bearings or even being sure how long they've been driving, but Louis thinks it's not more than ten minutes before the car slows abruptly and turns, descending a long spiral ramp into an underground car park.

It's very quiet when the engine is turned off. Louis hears the stranger unclip his seatbelt and open the door, and it occurs to him then how strange it is that the man is seemingly driving himself rather than having a chauffeur like most of his kind. Because there is no doubt in Louis's mind about what the stranger is, even if he doesn't know who he is. 

Louis hears footsteps going around the car. He pushes the coat away so he can see. The door on Niall's side is opened and the man leans in.

"Can you get out? Or do you need a hand?"

"We're fine," Louis says automatically as he tries to lever Niall up with his knees. The man just smiles and offers Niall a hand. Harry gets out next, and deliberately blocks the man’s way so he can help Louis out rather than him. That makes Louis smile a little to himself, even while he’s rolling his eyes at Harry.

The car park is a cavernous space half-filled with luxury cars. Louis looks around carefully as the stranger locks the car but he can't see any sign of anyone else.

"Is this where you live?" Niall asks.

"Yes." The stranger doesn't seem inclined to say anything else; he pulls his wallet out of his jacket and extracts some kind of access card from it before setting off towards a bank of elevators.

"Wait," Louis calls after him. "Why did you help us?"

He doesn't even look back. "You looked like you needed it. Come on."

***

The sun is setting and Louis watches the bright paintwork of Tower Bridge washed first golden and then red as the day draws to a close. There isn't much traffic across the bridge itself but there are plenty of little boats bustling to and fro beneath its pillars, shuttling between the big ferry boats and the landing stages on the bank, and the strange, almost otherworldly light lends an air of unreality to the scene.

Louis leans his head against the glass and lets the last of the sun warm him. 

"Are they asleep?"

Louis doesn't look round but he is acutely aware of the man's presence at his side. "Yes." And then, because he knows how this goes and he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible, he adds, "What do you want me to do?"

The man doesn't answer straight away. "I didn't help you for that," he says after a while.

"But that's what you want, isn't it?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

"Not really." Louis watches a plane flying up the river, no more than a thousand feet above the boats. 

The man sighs. “You don't even know my name, but you're quick to judge.”

“I know what you are.”

There's another pause, and Louis wonders if he's going to get a beating for that. The thought doesn't fill him with the terror it once might; he's too tired and sore to care. Then the man says:

“I probably deserved that.”

It’s less than twenty four hours since he was running for his life across a wasteland and now he’s standing in an apartment looking down at the London skyline, fed, showered, the stubble scraped from his cheeks. 

“I’m Ben,” the man offers.

“I don’t care.”

“You should sleep.”

Louis’ fingers press against the glass. “I’m not sleepy.”

“You’re not a very good liar,” Ben says dryly. “Want some coffee?”

Louis watches the landing stage directly below the apartment building, where a middle-aged man is stepping off a little boat, his slave in tow. “Yeah, ok.” And then, because the man’s being nice, he adds, “I’m Louis.”

He goes to check on Harry and Niall while Ben is making the coffee in his sleek, modern kitchen. The two of them are curled up in the small bed in the spare bedroom, in exactly the same position they’d fallen asleep in. Louis smiles to himself, twitching the duvet back over Niall’s arm where it’s slipped down.

He leaves them to sleep.

“I can ride you,” he says peremptorily when he goes back into the living area. “Or suck you off.”

Ben flinches - actually _flinches_ \- half way through the action of handing the cup to Louis. “That’s … an offer,” he says faintly.

Louis takes the cup off him before he drops it. “You know what I am,” he says matter-of-factly. “And you helped us. I know you want payback for that, so let’s do it. Whatever you want.”

Ben retreats behind the island counter, seemingly needing the reassurance of a physical barrier between them. Louis would feel mildly insulted by that if he had the energy to care.

“Look, Louis…”

“That’s my name.” He eases onto one of the gleaming chrome breakfast bar stools.

Ben scrubs awkwardly at his neatly-trimmed stubble. “Would it make any difference if I pointed out I have a wife?”

Louis pointedly looks around the decidedly bachelor apartment. 

“Not in London,” Ben says exasperatedly. “Not- not for a while, anyway.”

“So, what? You commute to your marriage?” 

Ben gives him a faintly disbelieving look. “You think I want my wife and kids here, with everything that’s going on?”

“Isn’t it the same shit it’s always been?” Louis says. He sips his coffee, trying to look nonchalant. _And anyway_ , he wants to add, _I saw how you were looking at Harry in the elevator_. The memory makes his skin crawl.

The look Ben is giving him is more thoughtful than anything else. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Louis shrugs, feeling oddly defensive. “Hasn’t really been time to keep up with current affairs lately.”

Ben sighs, and reaches under the counter to retrieve all the things Louis thought he’d hidden safely behind the bathroom sink. All the extremely _damning_ things.

“This is a nice ring.” Ben holds it up. “And that watch looks expensive. And not yours.”

He lets the silence hang.

“What do you want me to say?” Louis puts his cup down. “If you turn me in, I’m dead anyway. Doesn’t matter if I’m a thief or not.”

“Are you?” Ben asks.

Louis rubs a hand across his eyes. “No,” he says tiredly. “I’m not going to steal your stuff.” _Not tonight, anyway_ , he adds mentally.

“What happened to your back?”

“I got cut.” Louis scowls at him. “Thanks for watching me undress.”

“Look, I-”

“Can we drop the subject?” Louis cuts in. “We’ve just met; I’m not going to give you my life story. I appreciate what you did. Take what you want.”

“That’s how it is, is it?” Ben says mildly. “People take what they want?”

Louis sticks his chin out defiantly. “Not so much any more.”

Ben, if anything, looks a little sad. “Ok. Well, you should get some sleep.”

“In your bed?”

That earns him an eye-roll. “You can have my bed, if you like. I can sleep out here. Or you could squeeze in with the others.” Ben grimaces suddenly. “I should have thought. You could have had my bed; it’s bigger.”

“Hey, it’s not every day you bring three boys home, right?” Louis slides off the stool. “You’ll know next time.”

Ben looks startled for a second, and then he laughs, a broad, genuine laugh that fills the living area. 

“Take your stuff,” he says when he regains his composure. “Don’t take anything of mine. Pick where you want to sleep.”

Louis takes one of the huge sofas in the end, wanting to be able to keep an eye on what happens in the apartment. Ben supplies him with a pillow and a couple of thick blankets that combine to make a comfortable nest, where Louis can prop himself up with cushions to avoid putting any pressure on the cut on his back. Ben tidies up in the kitchen and then he goes to bed, turning off the lights and murmuring a quiet goodnight to Louis. Louis stares at the closed bedroom door for a while, not sure whether he’s expecting the man to come back out, but eventually he hears snoring and he can finally relax.

He slumps back into his nest, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the events of the day. He doesn’t want to close his eyes: every time he does he hears an engine roar and tastes dirt in his mouth. And the cut in his back is hurting and he can’t help wondering where Summer is, whether she’s even alive.

The other bedroom door clicks open and Louis doesn’t need to look closely to recognise Harry’s long, lean form. Harry hesitates in the doorway for a second before stepping out into the living area and closing the door behind him.

“Louis?”

“Yeah, I’m awake.” Louis starts to push himself up from the sofa but Harry crosses the room in a few quick steps and settles down next to him. “Niall ok?”

“Fast asleep,” Harry confirms. His fingers brush against Louis’ hand. 

“Good.” Louis grabs for Harry’s hand and holds on, wanting nothing more in that moment than the simple comfort of Harry’s skin against his. Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move closer or move away, but his thumb rubs lazy circles against Louis’ palm and it’s so calming, so soothing, that Louis does sleep for a while, for a couple of hours at least.

When he wakes, the floor lamp in the corner of the room is on and Harry has shifted to sit on the edge of the sofa, close enough to keep hold of Louis’ hand but not close enough to be too close. He’s humming softly, a tune Louis doesn’t recognise.

“Hey,” Louis croaks.

The humming stops. “Hey,” Harry says softly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Louis yawns. “What time is it?”

“1 am.”

Louis groans.

“You should go back to sleep.”

“Says you,” Louis grumbles, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Harry says unconvincingly. “That guy-”

“Ben. His name is Ben.”

“ _Ben_ , then.” Harry squeezes Louis’ hand. “Was he- was he ok?”

“If you’re asking whether he fucked me,” Louis says tiredly. “The answer’s no.” 

“Good,” Harry says firmly, squeezing his hand again. “You don’t need to do that any more.”

“Harry, we’ve talked about this-”

“We really haven’t,” Harry says with unexpected firmness and, yeah, ok, Louis’ been mostly shutting him down whenever Harry’s tried to express his displeasure but it had been _necessary_ , what Louis had been doing. And then there are other things they’ve been not talking about too. There are plenty of smart replies swirling around Louis’ head but what comes out is:

“You’ve got to stop knocking women out for me.”

He thinks for a moment he’s said the wrong thing but then Harry snorts with laughter. “I don’t mean to, to make a habit of it.”

Louis squeezes his hand. “Can’t complain. You probably saved my life.”

“Only like you saved me,” Harry says at once. “And, and I just want you to be happy. I want you not to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not _afraid_ of you,” Louis scoffs, trying to pull his hand away. But Harry holds on, refusing to let him go.

“You’re afraid of what I could do and I, um- I don’t know how to fix that. But I want to try.”

“You can’t _fix_ me, Haz,” Louis says wearily. “You can’t just fuck me and make it ok. It’s not- It’s too late, yeah?”

“I don’t believe that,” Harry says stubbornly. “And I don’t think that.”

“Good for you.” Finally Louis gets his hand free. “I need to piss, yeah? If you want to do something useful, see if you can work out how the coffee machine works.”

Harry blinks owlishly. “Do you think coffee is a good idea?”

“Oh yeah.” Louis sits up, stretching. “It’s a really good idea. Because you know what this building is? You know where we are?” 

Harry shakes his head, confused. Louis lets his smile widen, his eyes crinkle as he gestures towards the windows, finally letting the glee he’d felt when he’d worked out where they were in relation to the river bubble up.

“Liam’s in this building. He’s here. It’s fucking _fate_ , Haz. We’re in. We’re going to get him. We’re going to get him back.”

Harry’s smile is blinding.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's followed this story so far - for reading, for commenting, thank you! It's been a rollercoaster and while we're nearly at the end there are a few twists and turns yet ;)

Louis can’t remember how long it’s been since he last had a lie-in - it feels like forever, like it was someone else entirely who used to sprawl in bed until lunchtime and emerge from his nest only to piss and make himself a cup of tea - and it doesn’t, as Louis keeps trying to remind himself, actually _mean_ anything. It’s not something he can get used to. 

It’s nice to pretend, though. Ben leaves the apartment to do whatever it is he does all day just before nine and they have it to themselves until he returns home around six. For nine hours a day it’s just them, and Louis can lie in his makeshift bed on the sofa watching TV - with channels he’s never even seen before to keep him entertained - while Niall sprawls on the other sofa, his sprained knee packed with ice. Harry doesn’t always join them but when he does he sits on the floor, leaning against the sofa so Louis can run his fingers through his hair. There are hot showers and warm radiators and clean clothes and food in the cupboards, and it’s all unimaginable luxury compared to how they’ve been living lately. Ben doesn't seem to mind them eating whatever they like. He even asks what they want to eat, and comes home the next day with groceries, and a book Harry had expressed an interest in.

Louis could get used to living like this, but he doesn't think they have the luxury of time. They need to get Liam and get out and he _knows_ that - but part of him also wonders when Ben will demand payment for saving them, for feeding and clothing them. He sees the way Ben’s eyes soften when he looks at Harry and the way he watches Harry when Harry cooks for them the second night in, and his chest constricts a little because he sees the way Harry flushes prettily when Ben compliments his food and the way he touches Ben easily, casually, without any of the wariness with which he touches Louis.

Louis wakes up during the third night, in the very early hours, and hears Harry talking to Ben in the kitchen, so quietly he can’t make out the words. Louis doesn’t say anything to Harry about it the next day, waiting to see if Harry will mention it first. But Harry doesn’t, and Louis isn’t sure what that means. Harry sits in the second bedroom for most of the day, staring out of the window, and even Niall can’t jog him out of whatever strange mood he’s in. 

Ben takes Louis out of the apartment that evening, up to an observation deck near the very top of the building. It's late; late enough, Ben says wryly, that there is no one around to notice Louis's lack of collar. Sure enough, the observation deck is deserted. It runs the entire width of the building, looking out across the river to the south and across the city to the north.Looking north, Louis understands why Ben has brought him up here. 

He remembers, dimly, going to a Bonfire Night event once, when he was very small. The memories are fragmented, distorted by time, but he remembers his feelings of awe at the raw, primeval power and energy both of the flames and of the crowd around them. He remembers the sense of being part of something greater than himself, part of something with the power to do anything, to set the world ablaze, to tear down governments and move mountains.

"That's a lot of fires," he says weakly.

"Yes," Ben says. He presses something into Louis’ hands. “Here, use these.”

Louis looks down. It’s a pair of binoculars, very like the pair his grandfather had owned and let Louis use under careful supervision when he was tiny. Louis turns them over in his hands a few times before he raises them to his eyes and presses himself up against the glass, trying to get the clearest view. Ben hadn't bother turning on the lights on the observation deck when they stepped out of the elevator, and so Louis has a clear view of the inferno to the north and, more than that, the _people_ , the crowds, wave after wave of them surging across stretches of wasteland and down ruined streets. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, like little ants intent on a single purpose, a tidal wave of humanity.

"Where are they going?"

"Where do you think?"

Louis is so busy looking at the swarm heading towards them that he almost misses the rapidly blinking lights in the sky that heralds the arrival of the counterstrike, the helicopter gunships that swoop down from the skies like avenging angels, terrible and merciless. Louis' hands clench on the binoculars at the first muzzle flash, as a first line of ants falls to the ground and lies still.

More muzzle flashes - and he sees the ants run and stumble and fall, he sees them scream their defiance at the sky, he sees them hurling rocks and bricks at the instruments of death hovering above them, and he can taste dirt and blood in his mouth and hear the screams in his mind.

And Ben just _stands_ there…

"Why did you bring me up here," he asks, choked, lowering the binoculars.

Ben sighs. "I wanted you to see it. To understand."

"What's there to understand? It's a massacre. Fuck-" Louis slams his fist against the glass.

"Yes." Ben moves easily to avoid Louis's second punch. "It is. Louis-"

"Don't fucking touch me!" Louis backs up, suddenly frantic. He's too far from Harry and Niall, alone up here with a man who wants to gloat over the death of others, and he’s stupid, _stupid_ , to have trusted a man he barely knows-

"Louis, I'm not your enemy," Ben says with infuriating patience.

"What are you then, my _friend_?"

"Maybe." Ben doesn't make any move towards him, perhaps realising that Louis would lose it completely if he came any closer. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just wanted you to know what was happening."

Louis risks another glance to the window, but all he can see now is flames and drifting smoke and strange, distorted shapes, and he realises, then, that it's not quite as one-sided as he'd first assumed, that one of the helicopters is on the ground, oddly angled, its broken, twisted panels outlined starkly against a raging inferno.

"What's going on?" he challenges. "I've never seen anything like this."

Ben turns away to gaze out across the city. "Neither have I. I don't think it's ever been like this, and it will only get worse."

"Meaning?"

"I'm sure you've noticed that things have changed," Ben says after a moment's hesitation.

"I don't exactly have a lot of experience in knowing what's _normal_ ," Louis says scathingly. It occurs to him then – and it probably should have done before — that Ben could very well have been a guest at the house. Louis doesn't recognise him, and neither does Niall, but that in itself doesn't mean anything. He tries and fails to think of a way of asking that doesn't open up a whole new can of worms. 

Ben doesn't pry though. "Take it from me, it's not normal. For some of us, at least, life has been good for a long time. Easy."

"Not so much for people outside," Louis points out, thinking of the grey-faced people shuttling in and out of the City every day to do the menial work people like Ben set themselves above. But then, Ben doesn't seem to have anyone who comes in to cook and clean, and he drives himself around, and Louis doesn't know what that means. The man hasn't asked them any questions about themselves and that's odd and unsettling in itself, because in his place Louis would have been demanding answers days ago. It’s just another reason to kick himself for letting things drift, for getting too comfortable and feeling too safe.

"No," Ben allows. "And now- now the chickens are coming home to roost." He turns his head towards Louis. "Are you old enough to remember what it was like, before?"

"A bit." Louis bites his lip. "Not really."

Ben looks away again. "Take it from me; it wasn't like this. I'm not saying it was perfect, but it wasn't like this. We didn't have people living as slaves. We didn't murder people, string people up in the street for waving a placard or handing out leaflets. There was … order."

"There's order now." Although it doesn't look much like order, where the fires are burning. And then, because Ben's soul-searching is all very well but somehow doesn't mean much compared to the reality of Louis' existence, he adds, "Why you even complaining? Nice apartment, nice car, lots of money. Why do you care? No one else does. Enjoy your life and be grateful you don't have to deal with the shit."

For a moment Louis thinks that Ben won't respond at all. He stands immobile, oddly rigid, as if he is controlling himself only through great effort. It's not anger, as far as Louis can tell, but something else, and he waits for the response to come.

"I'm sorry," Ben says eventually. "You're right: I have no real right to complain for myself. I can't imagine what your life has been like."

_No_ , Louis thinks. _You don’t_. But he doesn’t say it, just moves to stand next to Ben, looking out. 

“Is this why, then?” Louis asks quietly, after a while. “Did you help us because you felt guilty or sorry for us or what?”

“I helped you because you looked like you needed it,” Ben says, very softly.

“But you want something in return, right?”

There isn’t much light but Louis still sees Ben’s face contort in some sort of grimace. “You make that sound much worse than it is.”

“You want Harry.” It isn’t a question.

Instead of replying, Ben takes hold of his arm, holding him firmly enough to discourage any sort of protest as he walks him the length of the observation deck to the windows overlooking the river. Louis is bemused by it all, until he looks out and realises what Ben wanted him to see.

He hadn’t really noticed from Ben’s apartment: the angle and the lack of lights along the riverbank would have masked it from view if he’d known to look. But from this height he can see clearly to where a boat much larger than the normal passenger ferries is moored close in to the bank, surrounded by tiny, scuttling figures.

“What are they doing?”

Ben’s fingers press into his arm. “Come on, Louis. You’re smart; I know you’ve worked it out.”

Louis presses his face against the glass and stares down at the river. “They’re loading the boat. With … stuff. Lots of stuff. Like they’re not coming back.”

“Yes.” Ben releases his hold abruptly, so abruptly Louis nearly loses his balance. “They’re not coming back. It’s over, Louis. This … all of it. It’s falling apart, again, and this time there’s no point salvaging anything. There’s no more to take. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Louis shakes his head, but he _does_ understand, more than he wishes he did. “What was Harry asking you?” he asks instead. “When he was talking to you last night.”

Ben seems taken aback for a moment. “He was asking about his family,” he says slowly. “Whether I could find out anything about them. He hopes they’re alive.”

“And are they?” 

“No.”

Louis closes his eyes. “Does he know that?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t tell him,” Louis says fiercely. He rubs a hand across his eyes. He realises that if Harry’s told Ben enough about himself for Ben to make enquiries about his family then he’s told him enough to get them all killed. Not that Louis plans to mention that to Ben. “Let him- let him have that hope, yeah?”

“I wasn’t going to tell him.” Ben’s hand settles on his back, in a gesture that’s probably meant to be reassuring. Louis pulls away. "I told him I'd look into it. He doesn't need to know the truth." Ben glances at Louis then. "They told him, you know, that if he co-operated-”

“Co-operated?”

“They asked him for names, of other people. His parents were involved in some sort of protest movement; I don't know the details. His parents were arrested, him too, and Harry was given an ultimatum.”

“And he gave the names,” Louis says slowly.

Ben nods. “They told him, if he went along with it, if he gave them some names, they'd spare his sister. Let her go free."

Louis laughs mirthlessly. "I'm guessing that was a lie."

"Oh, they kept their promise. For a while. Until you lot made a run for it."

It's like a punch to the gut, a horrible, cold, feeling. "Fuck." And then, "You know who we are then. You know about us."

"I guessed," Ben admits. "I'd heard some gossip about it, weeks ago, but it took me a while to make the connection. Everyone assumed you were dead, I think."

"That's not far from the truth." Louis's mind is racing: overlaid on the sick horror of it all is confusion; he still can't work out Ben's angle on this. If he wanted to hand them over to the authorities, he's had days to do it. If he wanted Harry for himself, he's had days to do it. "You lot talk to each other then?"

"By you lot, you mean-"

"You know what I mean." Louis shoves his hands in his pockets. He's cold, suddenly. “Don't think you ever had anyone beat the crap out of you just because they could. People like you have all kinds of rights, yeah? Not like me. Not like us.”

"Gossip gets around, yes,” Ben says neutrally. “And pulling off what you did, five of you escaping all once… Well, that definitely got around."

Louis bites his lip. "And, and what else did they say? Just that we escaped?"

It's Ben's turn to laugh without any real humour behind it. "If you mean are you listed as dangerous criminals who attacked an innocent woman, then yes, they did say other things. You were most wanted for a week or two, before someone derailed a train at Hemel Hempstead."

_Most wanted_. Louis doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Why don't you turn us in then? You'd probably get a reward. And Harry."

"That did occur to me," Ben says dryly. Louis looked sharply at him but he can't tell whether the other man is joking or not. "But don't worry; I'm not going to turn you in. Everyone's got bigger fish to fry now anyway. In two weeks time this building will be empty, everyone and everything will be gone, and after that it's survival of the fittest."

"You too?"

Ben reaches into his jacket and pulls out two pieces of card to show to Louis. Tickets. "My seat out of here. A week from now I'll be back with my family."

"You have two tickets," Louis points out. But he already knows what Ben is getting at. "What's your wife going to say?"

Ben sighs, tucking the tickets safely back into his jacket. "I think she's going to love him. He'll be safe. I can get him papers, proper papers. He won't be a slave; he hasn't been one long enough to have that look about him."

Louis bristles. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Ben just snorts. "You know what it means. He has a chance, Lou. I've seen how you look at him; I know you're in love with him." 

Louis opens his mouth to protest but Ben keeps talking, not letting him get a word in edgeways. 

"If you care about him, let him go. Let him come with me. I'll get him on that flight and he'll be safe, he'll have a good life. Not every country is, is like this. It's not perfect but there are places where things aren't so different to how they were before. He can have a normal life, maybe go to university, have a life, a family. Don't you want that for him? Or would you rather he stay here, and if he doesn't get killed by the mob when things really get out of control – because, believe me, what you've seen tonight is _nothing_ to what it will be like when there are no soldiers to control it and when we go they go too – then you can watch him die slowly of starvation or disease.”

“Fuck you,” Louis says hoarsely.

"Think about it, Lou," Ben presses. "You know I'm right. This is his only chance to have a normal life, and if you care for him, you have to let him go."

"Funny how me letting him go benefits you, isn't it?" Louis spits out. "Anyway, you don't need my help. Just tell him what's going on and let him make the decision. Or are you afraid he won't make the _right_ decision?"

"I _know_ he won't make the right decision," Ben snaps back. "He'll want to stay with you, even if it means he dies. That's why I need you. I need you to help me get him on that plane next week."

Louis realises he is clenching his hands into fists and he makes a deliberate effort to relax them. "You've known him for a few days. Why are you so determined to save him?"

Ben shrugs. "I could say something cheesy about, say, saving him is really about saving myself-"

"But that would be bullshit."

"-but the truth is, I don't know. There's just something about him. Something that draws me to him."

He sounds so sincere; Louis hates him for it. "Well, that's Harry for you. Everyone falls in love with him."

"Exactly," Ben says. "So come on, Lou. Help me with this. Help me save him. This isn’t a good situation for anyone but at least some good can come out of it.”

Louis looks down at the river again. They've finished loading the boat now and, as he watches, the mooring ropes are cast off and it starts edging away from the bank. He thinks about the fires and the mob and the fury and rage of the dispossessed. He thinks about Harry's face when Louis was hurt and all the things Harry has sacrificed for Louis.

Harry has a chance of a future; Louis’ was taken from him long ago.

"All right,” he says slowly. “I'll help you. But there are a couple of things you need to do for me first."

***

Louis ducks out of Ben's car near King's Cross, taking advantage of a minor commotion on the road up ahead to avoid attracting attention as he climbs over a newly-installed plastic barrier and darts down a side road.

Things have changed, that much is evident. There are a few what Louis classes as _normal people_ in the streets but nothing like the crowds he remembers. There are a lot of soldiers though, more than Louis remembers ever seeing in his life. There's a new urgency in the air too, a wariness on everyone's faces. This is it, this is the end, and if Louis needed any more convincing the evidence is right here.

There's no sign that anyone has been through the grating that leads down to the subterranean river lately, although Louis looks carefully for any evidence that Summer has been back this way. The river is higher than he remembers, even though it hasn't been raining, and the path is treacherous underfoot, making the going tortuously slow. It feels like forever before he's climbing up the ladder and easing the grille aside to climb back out onto the surface.

Things have changed here, too. The smell of burning hangs in the air, a sharp, acrid stench that sticks in his throat and makes his eyes water. At first sight the Ratways looks deserted, its buildings more rickety and tumbledown than ever, but as he makes his way across the walkways Louis catches glimpses of movement and he feels himself being watched. No one approaches him though.

He half-expects Arki to be gone, but the man is sitting by his fire, humming to himself, as if nothing is wrong. He glances up, briefly, when Louis enters and shuts the door behind him, but almost once goes back to watching the flames. Louis reaches into his pocket.

"I brought you this."

Arki takes the ring from him without comment, giving him a quick, thoughtful once-over as he does so. He takes his time examining the ring, turning it into the light so he can assess it from every angle.

"Very good," he pronounces eventually. "18 carat gold, hallmarked. At least a carat on that diamond, maybe more. Not bad at all. What else did you bring me?"

Louis carefully takes a seat across from him. "That's it. That's all there is."

"I see." The ring disappears into one of Arki's many pockets. "You've been gone so long I was sure you'd come back with many treasures."

"We ran into trouble." It's not a lie, and Louis knows Arki can see the truth of his words in his face. "We were nearly killed."

"How fortunate for me that you weren't. I've missed you, little rooster."

Louis shakes his head. "It is fortunate for you. It's really bad up there; you have no idea. Things are falling apart. You have to get out of here. Everyone has to get out of here."

"No, no." Arki rises ponderously to his feet. Louis eyes him dispassionately, noting how the man seems to have aged twenty years in the few days they've been gone. "Don't talk like that, little rooster. Nothing changes. You'll see."

And just like that, Louis shelves his plan of trying to persuade Arki to leave. It's something about the set of the man's shoulders, the jut of his chin, that tells him there’s no point: reality is not something Arki wants to face. "Ok,” he says instead. “But I need something from you, something I know you have."

Arki chuckles. "So eager; that's my boy. Come on then"

Louis rolls his eyes. He hadn't exactly been planning on this - if anything he’d been hoping to avoid it - but if it gets him what he needs then it's worth it. He has a feeling Arki won't hand over what he needs willingly and he can't risk a bad reaction now; he doesn't have time to fix any complications. "Fine,” he says resignedly.

It's a ridiculous thought but he feels almost too clean to be falling into Arki's bed, his skin scrubbed clean in the shower that morning and his hair freshly washed with the expensive shampoo Ben buys. When Arki touches him it hurts in a way he hasn't hurt for a long time; when Arki touches him he feels it in his soul.

"Hush, little rooster," Arki says against his ear when he's done, and Louis realises that he's crying.

He escapes as soon as Arki starts snoring, dressing faster than he's ever dressed in his life and practically running into the main room, because he has precious little time to find what he needs.It takes him a long time - too long - to find it, tucked away at the bottom of a box in the corner of the room, and Louis nearly starts crying again with relief when he finally gets his hands on it, pulling it free and hiding it away in his jacket.

There's no time to waste; he needs to get out of here. Louis takes a last look around, trying to imprint every detail on his memory. It isn't that he has any fond memories of this place but it seems important, somehow.

He's nearly back to the surface when someone steps out in front of him. Louis' heart nearly jackrabbits out of his chest before he recognises Sean, the boy who had been so charmed by Harry.

"Fuck," he says breathlessly. "You scared the crap out of me."

Now he looks closer, Sean looks terrified too, pale and gaunt and thinner than Louis remembers. 

"We all thought you were dead," Sean says.

"It was close." Louis tries to edge closer to the exit but Sean is blocking the passageway. "But, yeah, we made it."

"Summer didn't come back," Sean says flatly.

_Shit_. "I'm sorry," Louis says truthfully. He can't tell from Sean's blank expression whether he thinks there's anything suspicious to that or not. "Things are getting really bad out there."

"Is that why you came back? Is that what you told Arki?"

Louis manages to inch a little closer to the exit. He's hyper-aware of time ticking away; he needs to get out of here. "Yeah, that's what I told him,” he says evenly. He doesn’t know where Sean’s loyalties lie or whether he was aware of Summer’s double-cross but he thinks Sean might be too exhausted and too scared to be much of a threat by himself.

Sean pulls a face. "And he told you everything was ok, right?"

Another step. Louis debates just shoving him out of the way but if Sean panics and shouts for help he could have a whole mob of them on his back and he can't risk that.

"I told him, and he didn't listen," Louis says. "Sean, look, I can't tell you what to do, but take it from me that things are really, really bad out there, and I don't think it's going to get any better. You need to get out of here, now."

"And go where?"

"I don't know," Louis admits. "I don't know where's safe. But I do know you're rats in a trap here and, whatever happens, it's going to be bad. There are riots and stuff, coming closer. By tomorrow night, maybe, they could be here."

"They can't get in," Sean says. He sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "There's no way. _They_ wouldn't let them in."

"There won't be a _they_ for much longer," Louis says ruthlessly. "Don't you get it; it's all falling apart. In a couple of weeks there won't be any soldiers, there won't be any checkpoints. It'll just be fucking anarchy and what do you think's going to happen when that mob gets here and the only target they have is you." He waves a hand in a gesture that is meant to encompass not only the passageway they're standing in but the whole of the Ratways. "I've seen what's happening, Sean. You think they'll show you any mercy when they realise there's no one else to take it out on?”

"I don't know," Sean says helplessly. He looks young, so young, and Louis wants to scream at the injustice of it all, an injustice done not just to him or to Sean but to all of them, to every single one of them caught up in this unholy mess.

"You _do_ know," Louis says, forcing himself to be resolute. "Look, get your stuff, whatever you can carry, and get the fuck out of here. If you can get other people to go, great, but get yourself out. Find somewhere … somewhere you can lay low." He daren't say _safe_ ; he's not sure that such a place exists, at least not for a while. "Do it tonight, before it's too late."

Sean stares at him for a long, long time and then nods, stepping aside to let Louis past.

Louis runs.

***

Ben is waiting for him, as he'd promised. Louis slides into the passenger seat of his car and closes the door with something like relief.

"You're early," is all Ben says as he pulls away.

"I got done what I needed to," Louis says, scrubbing a hand across his stubble. He can't wait to get back to Ben's apartment and take a long shower, scrub the memory not just of Arki's touch but all the desperation and despair he's seen. "How are the others?"

"Climbing the walls, worrying about you." Ben slows down briefly for an impromptu checkpoint but the soldiers manning it take one look at his ID and wave them through. "I did what you asked."

"Thank you," Louis says awkwardly.

“No problem. You smell like a sewer," Ben observes.

Louis rolls his eyes at him. "You do realise I had to practically wade through a river, don't you?"

Ben wrinkles his nose. "That smells worse than just a river."

"Yeah, well, it was a bit blocked up," Louis says. "You know, dead bodies." He doesn't go into details, doesn't want to even think about the horrific things he’d seen on the way back. "I think they've, um, just been throwing them into the river."

Ben tightens his grip on the steering wheel for a brief moment but he doesn't seem shocked, Louis notes. "They used to have grilles for just that reason. Every four hundred yards or something like that."

"Well, they're not there now."

"No, I imagine the metal was too valuable," Ben says dryly. He glances across at Louis. "You ok?"

"Yeah," Louis says, but he's not sure he is. 

Ben looks over a few more times during the drive but doesn’t say anything else.

The minute Louis walks into the apartment he gets swept into Harry's arms, hugged so tightly the air is forced out of his lungs. He manages a squeak of protest and Harry lets him go abruptly.

"Sorry, sorry…" He wrinkles his nose, echoing Ben's reaction. "You smell-"

"I know," Louis interrupts. "I'm going for a shower." He turns to Niall. "Are you ok?"

Niall just grins at him. "Good to have you back. Harry here was just about to send out a rescue party."

"No," Harry protests, blushing. "Louis can look after himself."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Louis shrugs off his jacket. "Going for that shower now."

"Good idea," Ben says smoothly. "I'll put some food on, it'll be ready when you're done."

Louis picks up some clean clothes to wear afterwards and heads for the shower. Shedding his dirty clothes is a relief; stepping under the hot stream of water is even more so. He scrubs himself for longer than is strictly necessary but somehow he still feels unclean when he steps out.

Dinner is mostly eaten in silence, although Niall makes desultory attempts at small talk. Harry is abstracted, picking half-heartedly at his food. Ben eats, but seems content to do so in silence. On the one hand Louis is grateful for the quiet; on the other, having the space to run over the events of the day in his head over and over again isn't doing much for his sense of serenity.

"You okay?” Niall asks quietly as the two of them are clearing the table. Ben has gone for a shower; Harry has drifted into the living area and is looking at some of the artwork Ben has on the walls.

"Yeah," Louis says. "I think so," he amends.

"But you got it, right?"

"I got it," Louis confirms. And then, before Niall can ask, "Had to steal it."

"Shit." Niall glances over his shoulder before lowering his voice. "That means we can't count on Arki for help, right?"

"I don't think we could anyway," Louis observes. "If things go tits up, we're fucked. Just remember what we talked about, though."

Niall looks around again and when he speaks his voice is little more than a whisper. "Don't you think you should say something to Harry?"

"No," Louis says forcefully. "No way. We talked about this." He looks at Niall pleadingly. "We _talked_ about it."

Niall just stares back at him for what feels like forever before he finally sighs and shakes his head. "You're a fucking idiot," he says. "Did I ever tell you that? The two of you are fucking idiots."

"I'm a realist," Louis says. "It won't matter soon."

"Twat," Niall says affectionately, and goes to join Harry in the living area. Louis pulls a face at his retreating back. 

Ben is still in the shower, as far as Louis can tell, but he's not taking any chances: he beckons the other two over to the windows, as far away from the bathroom as he can manage. It's not ideal but Ben has already told him he won't be leaving the apartment from now until he has to do so and this is the only chance of privacy they have.

Finally he can show the others his prize, and the way their eyes light up when they see it makes everything worthwhile.

"Fuck," Niall says eloquently, reaching out to tentatively touch the controller. "Will it work on Liam's collar?"

"Course it will," Louis says with more confidence than he feels. "Ben says they're a universal controller, whatever that is. There are only five collar types."

"So this would work for anyone?" Harry asks quietly.

"This is why there were only ever five of us in the house," Niall says.

Louis hadn't made that connection. "Yes to both," he says. "But that's good; there's less to go wrong." He bites down on the urge to point out all the other things that could go wrong with their plan, starting with Ben, who he's still not sure he entirely trusts.

"Are we sure it works?" Harry asks.

"No," Louis admits. "I have no idea. I don't even know how old this is; Arki could have had it lying around for years."

Niall grimaces. "Do I even want to know where he got it?"

"Probably not." Louis yawns and stretches his arms out. Sitting down was a mistake; the tiredness has crept up on him. "We should have brought that one from the house."

"We didn't know that then," Harry says. “We didn’t know we’d need it. You can't blame yourself for that."

Niall snorts. "Louis can blame himself for all kinds of things, can't you, Louis?"

Louis gives him a withering look. "Not the time, Niall." He studiously avoids Harry's eyes. "You two should get to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

Niall looks for a moment like he might try and force the issue, but Harry gets a hand under his elbow and pulls him up and away from Louis.

"He's right, we should get an early night."

It's very quiet when they've gone. Louis half-expects Harry to come back but the bedroom door stays resolutely shut. The shower goes off, eventually, but Ben doesn't come back into the living area, seemingly using the connecting door to go through to his own bedroom without saying good night to them.

Louis stands with his hands pressed against the glass, staring out across the river, the army wagons running across Tower Bridge, the shaded running lights of the boats moving purposefully along the Thames. On the other side of the river, far to the south, the sky is red and gold, the flames dancing into the night sky.

They're surrounded now; the enemy - if Louis can even think of them as that - is truly at the gates, and if they're going to rescue Liam then they only have one chance to get it right.

***

Walking into the cavernous ballroom feels like stepping into another world, a familiar, half-remembered world, and it's easier than Louis feels entirely comfortable with to slip into his role, to lower his eyes and trail at a respectful distance behind Ben while pretending to be oblivious to the openly covetous stares directed his way. 

The party is already in full swing, the room thronged with people, bright and glittering, even if the laughter is a little too loud and the eyes a little too bright to be entirely natural. A band plays on the stage at the other end of the room; Louis doesn't recognise the song but it's gratingly upbeat, a jarring reminder of the disconnect between the decadence he sees before him and the reality of what's happening outside and the rapidly-approaching implosion.

Harry looks shell-shocked, and Louis thinks he must never have seen anything like this in his life. Ben pauses on the mezzanine floor, leaning in close to Harry to whisper something in his ear, and Louis sees the tension in Harry's shoulders ease a little, only to return immediately when a man passes them with a half-naked slave - a boy not much older than Harry - on a leash behind him. The boy's wrists are tied behind his back, the rope looped tight under his collar pulling them up close to his shoulder blades. Louis winces a little in sympathy.

“Are you sure she’ll be here?” he asks Ben, risking leaning forward to make sure no one else will hear.

“She’s here,” Ben says. “Everyone’s here. The last blow-out.”

“And she'll bring Liam?”

“Of course.”

Louis looks around again, tugging uncomfortably on the wide leather collar wrapped around his neck to disguise the fact that he isn't wearing a proper collar. It feels constricting, even though he knows it isn't anything close to being too tight. But it's a reminder, a symbol, and Louis thinks morosely that in a gathering like this he might as well paint a target on his backside.

"You ok?" Harry asks.

"Fine," Louis says, gritting his teeth. "Careful." They can't afford for Harry to show him too much concern.

Harry jerks back like he's been scalded, almost falling over himself in his hurry to disassociate himself from Louis. Louis bites back the sarcastic comment hovering on his tongue and tries to look suitably subservient.

"This way," Ben says, gesturing for the others to follow him. "I don't think we going to find him out here."

"Where then?" Harry asks.

Ben takes a moment to reply, distracted for a moment waving a greeting to someone he clearly knows on the other side of the room. "There are private rooms, in the back. He may be in there."

Louis doesn't much like the sound of that, but he's not sure they're any safer out here in the open. Either way, if Ben is minded to betray them, to offer them up as some kind of sacrifice, some kind of cheap entertainment for the party, then they were fucked the minute they walked through the door.

Making their way across the main floor is a slow and arduous process as person after person greets Ben, and is introduced to Harry. Louis, grudgingly, has to admire how Ben adroitly sidesteps how, exactly, he knows Harry - and Harry himself is a revelation. Louis has never seen Harry in an environment like this, doesn’t think he’s ever experienced anything like this, and yet he's stunned by how effortless Harry makes it look, how easily he smiles and shakes hands and kisses cheeks, leaving behind a trail of victims to his charm.

If nothing else, it cements Louis's belief that he is doing the right thing. This is what Harry deserves, this is the life he deserves to lead, and any selfish desire Louis has to keep him for himself has to be set aside.

Even if he accepts it, it still crushes him a little every time he sees Harry smile, hears him laugh.

They're three quarters of the way across the room when time seems to slow to a crawl and it suddenly gets hard to breathe, because Louis would recognise that walk anywhere, that turn of head, that laughter.

It's Caroline.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world falls apart sooner than they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, well here we are at the last two chapters of this fic, which I'm posting together. Thank you SO MUCH to all of you who have followed this fic, and left comments and kudos. Seriously, thank you :)
> 
> This chapter has some nasty (world-compliant) stuff - NOT happening to the boys - and while I've tried to keep it limited and non-graphic please be aware that there is off-screen or implied deaths of background characters, violence, and implied or non-graphic torture and non-consensual sex involving background characters.

Louis isn't quite sure how he holds it together, how he manages to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, trailing after Harry and Ben like a good little slave, when she, when Caroline, is _right there_. She isn't looking directly at him but she only has to turn her head a little and there'll be no hiding place, nowhere to run to. Louis digs his fingernails into his palms and desperately tries to think of the right course of action, but there's no time; Ben is glancing back for him, a faint frown of annoyance on his face, like he's going to admonish Louis publicly. Which is the last thing Louis needs right now, even if it would add to the authenticity of their little charade. He quickens his step, making sure to keep pace with the others.

They're almost at the edge of the room when Ben and Harry slow again so Ben can pass a few words with someone else he knows. Louis takes the opportunity to surreptitiously look around as a distraction from the sight of Ben’s proprietary hand in the small of Harry’s back and, to his relief, Caroline has moved too; she's talking to an older couple, facing slightly away. She looks, Louis has to admit, good, with no sign of whatever injuries Harry left her with. When they get out of here he's going to make sure Harry knows she's okay, because he doesn't want Harry to have it on his conscience that he might have seriously injured her.

“Hey,” Harry says quietly, his fingers brushing Louis’ wrist, startling him out of his reverie. “Ok?”

Torn between pulling his hand away - and potentially drawing attention to them - and wanting to shut this down before anyone notices there’s something strange about their interaction, Louis ducks his head, trying to look as subservient as possible. “Fine.”

He’s relieved when Harry doesn’t push any further but he wishes Ben would hurry up and finish his conversation so they can get on with looking for Liam. The longer they stand out here, exposed, the bigger the risk of someone recognising them - or, more likely, _him_ \- and raising the alarm. He's fairly sure more than one person here tonight was a visitor to the house at some point and now he knows that the story of their escape has got around he really doesn't want to be recognised.

“Savages, the lot of them,” the man talking to Ben says. “Looting, setting fire to things.”

“Perhaps they think they don't have anything to lose,” Ben says mildly.

The conversation turns to someone they both know, and Louis tunes out again, preferring to keep an eye on Caroline.

Finally, _finally_ , Ben brings his conversation to a close and, catching Harry's sleeve, guides him towards an arched doorway that leads to a long, colonnaded passageway. Louis follows, relief washing over him as he puts some more distance between himself and Caroline.

The passageway itself is dimly lit and deserted save for a few empty-eyed servers scurrying to and fro carrying trays of canapés and bottles of champagne. Louis hasn't even seen champagne in years; he knows it's one of the luxuries it's become increasingly hard to obtain. These, he thinks, must be the last of the stores, the last vintages produced before everything fell apart.

Ben glances back at Louis, winks, and adroitly filches a bottle from a passing server. The man doesn't even blink and Louis thinks, grimly, that he must be used to this sort of thing, maybe worse. Probably worse.

"Camouflage," Ben says in answer to Harry's unspoken question. He stops for a moment, expertly popping the cork. In the quiet of the passageway it's as loud as a gunshot. He glances at Louis. "Are you ready?"

Harry is looking between them, confused. "Ready for what?"

And it hits Louis, all over again, how naïve Harry really is; that he really doesn't understand what this part of the party is. That his time in the house, horrific though it had been, had in no way prepared him for this. He looks Ben in silent appeal.

"Maybe you should wait here, Harry," Ben says slowly. "Let me and Louis go looking."

Harry is shaking his head before Ben has even finished speaking. "No, no way. I'm coming with you."

"Just stay here, Haz," Louis tells him, but even as he speaks he's not sure it's a better solution: he's not exactly happy with the idea of leaving Harry alone in the passageway.

"I'm coming with you," Harry says stubbornly. He reaches out to Louis, almost, but not quite, touching. "I don't- I don't care, ok? Whatever it is, it can't be worse than, than anything we've seen before. And I'm not leaving you."

Louis can taste ashes on his tongue. "Fine. Come on. We can't stand here all night."

He lets Ben go ahead, lets Ben open the first door, tries not to flinch at the noise that spills out of the room, the heat, the stench of perfume and sweat and alcohol and blood. He feels Harry flinch against him, hears the quiet gasp of horror as he takes in the scene before him, the baying audience, the sharp crack of the whip as it connects against the heaving back of the boy hanging by his hands from the ceiling, the crimson rivulets of blood running down his legs.

It's not Liam. If nothing else, it's not Liam. Ben makes a quick circuit of the room, his hand possessively on Louis' hip to dissuade any unwanted attention. Or at least, Louis hopes that's what it is, because a good part of him is thinking that Ben must be the best actor he's ever seen to feign such indifference at the fate of the boy suffering to entertain these people - _monsters_ , he thinks - while they sip champagne and laugh and talk about nothing of any consequence.

He risks a glance at Harry. He is as white as a sheet and looks like he's going to throw up any moment. Louis desperately wants to comfort him, distract him, but there's no way he can do that with so many eyes on them. The second they're out of the room, though, Harry sinks down, his head in his hands. Ben and Louis exchange glances.

"Harry-"

"I'm fine," Harry says raggedly. He's shaking. "I'm fine."

They give him a moment. Louis goes over to Ben, draws him away from Harry a little.

"You need to hit me," he says without preamble. He thinks he's kept his voice down but Harry's head goes up at once.

"What the _fuck_ , Louis."

Ben doesn't say anything, just looks at Louis with understanding and something that might be sympathy.

"It's okay, Haz." Louis pauses for a moment as a server goes past with a tray of empty glasses. "You've- you've seen what it's like tonight. We need to-"

"We've been in _one_ room."

Louis just looks Ben. "Do it."

Ben doesn't even ask him where or give him any kind of warning; there's a blur of movement and then pain, a lot of pain, and Louis is stumbling back, nearly falling over his feet before Ben catches hold of him, a hand gripping hold of the nape of his neck so he can inspect the damage to Louis's face. He's barely got hold of Louis when his hands are abruptly ripped away and Louis nearly falls over again at the sudden loss of support.

"Get the fuck away from him!"

"Harry…" Ben's fist only caught the very corner of his mouth but it still hurts to speak: the whole side of his face hurts. He clamps down on Harry's arms, trying to convey through touch alone that it's ok, it's all right, but for a moment he thinks Harry is too far gone to reach.

As suddenly as it appeared, Harry’s anger evaporates. His hand hovers at the side of Louis’ face, close enough for Louis to feel the heat of his skin.

“I- Are you hurt?”

"I'm fine," Louis lies. _We don't have time for this_ , he nearly adds. Instead he forces a smile. "Camouflage."

Harry stares at him searchingly, as if seeking the truth in his face. Whatever it is he sees, in the end, to Louis's relief, he nods.

"Are we done?" Ben asks. Louis had almost forgotten his existence. "Can we carry on?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry mutters. He turns his head, looks at Ben, and scowls. "Just don't hit him again. Don’t even touch him.“

Louis almost laughs at the expression on Ben's face; he looks genuinely unnerved by Harry's vehemence. But then, he thinks, it's all too easy to underestimate Harry, to assume weakness where none exists.

They make a circuit of three more rooms without seeing any sign of either Liam or his owner. Louis does his best to focus on the mental map of the place he has in his head from the drawings Ben brought back to the apartment, rather than looking at anything in those rooms. He tries to forget what he can't miss seeing as soon as they step out of the door. He tries to ignore the rising sense of panic too: they're running out of time and if they don’t find Liam soon he doesn’t know what they’re going to do.

"Don't worry," Harry says to him quietly as they make their way to the next room. "We've got time; we'll find him."

Louis nods sharply. He flinches at the sound of high-pitched laughter somewhere behind them, right at the far end of the passageway. There's a group of people there, drifting through from the main room, too far away to be a concern right now but effectively cutting off their retreat.

The next room they enter is much the same as the others, except that there are two slaves in the centre of the room, unenthusiastically kissing while the audience wait to take their turn with them. One of them looks a little like Niall, the other is slighter, with flame red hair. Both of them are covered in come and bruises, new and old. As Louis watches, one of the women stubs out her cigarette on the shoulder of the blond boy.

Louis steals a glance at Harry. He looks like he's going to be sick again. Louis discreetly bumps his arm against him.

They're almost at the door when Louis hears a sudden, sickening crack, and a swelling roar of laughter behind them. He doesn't even think about it; he gets hold of Harry's arm and drags him bodily out of the room, not even caring how it looks or whether Ben is following, because he needs to get Harry _away_.

They stumble out into the passageway and the door slams behind them and Louis pushes Harry up against the wall, holding him still, trying to convey through touch alone that he has to stay calm, stay focused, or it’s all over.

"They fucking-"

"I know," Louis says urgently. "I know." He digs his fingers into Harry's biceps, pinning him against the wall.

"They killed him," Harry whispers.

"Yes." Louis looks at the tears tracking down Harry's cheeks and, for the first time in a long time, he feels completely and utterly helpless. "Yes, they did."

He is aware of Ben's presence, then, although he has no idea when the man came out into the passageway. Ben is standing in such a way as to block the view of anyone coming up the passageway and Louis is grateful for that. All they need right now is for someone to notice and make an issue of how Louis has Harry up against the wall.

"They killed him, like, like he was nothing,” Harry says, his voice still barely more than a whisper. “Like he didn't matter. Because they thought it was _funny_."

Louis doesn't know what to say to that, because it's true, it's all true, and he's not sure what Harry expected when even his own limited experience must have taught him that slaves are considered less than vermin in the grand scheme of things. But maybe, he thinks, there's a difference between knowing something in general terms and seeing the reality of it, seeing the full horror of it played out in front of you.

It's not the first time Louis has seen a slave murdered for nothing more than entertainment.

Harry lets out a shuddering breath and some of the tension goes out of him. Louis warily loosens his hold a little.

"When you showed me-“ Harry hesitates. “I mean, I knew it could happen-"

“Yeah, well, I wanted you to understand," Louis says. His voice sounds scratchy, a little hoarse. "Those collars weren't just for fun, you know."

"I thought they were just, like, to control us." Harry stops, and bites his lip, and Louis wonders if he's remembering the night he was made to fuck Louis and then punished for his defiance. "I didn't think they'd-"

“We need to go, Louis," Ben interjects. His voice is quiet, almost apologetic. Maybe he's shocked, maybe it's nothing to him. For all Louis knows he's done the same to a slave himself. "Come on, Harry."

"We'll talk about it later, Haz," Louis says. He releases his hold on Harry. "But we need to find Liam now, right?"

"Yeah." Harry scrubs a hand through his hair and pulls a face. "Yeah, ok."

They search two more rooms, and even Ben seems to be affected now; he still makes conversation but there's an edge to it, a tension in his face that wasn't there before. For his part, Louis is finding it hard to keep up the façade of the obedient, subservient slave, and nearly gets himself hit in the face again when one man takes exception to Louis not moving out of his way quickly enough.

"Don't worry," Ben says smoothly, interjecting himself between Louis and the indignant - and very drunk - party-goer. "I've got this."

The man leers at Louis over Ben's shoulder. "Looks like you already did. Why not share it out?"

There's something about his voice that triggers a long-buried memory; Louis remembers this one as a guest at the house. About a year ago, he thinks. Careless; liked to hurt. _Shit_.

"He already did," Harry says, slinging an arm around Louis' shoulders and pulling him in.

The man refocuses his attention on Harry, frowning like he's trying to place him. "Is that right," he says slowly.

"Yeah." Louis doesn't think he's ever heard Harry's voice go that deep, or sound that authoritative. "We're sharing him."

"Aren't you lucky?" a woman Louis hadn't even noticed paying attention to their conversation says, smiling at Harry in what is probably meant to be a seductive manner. "And you are..?"

"Harry," he says, without letting go of Louis. "Nice to meet you..."

"Gloria," she says, a little breathlessly. In the privacy of his own head, Louis rolls his eyes.

"Lovely to meet you, Gloria."

"Yes, good to see you again," Ben says smoothly. "I'm sure we'll have a chance to catch up soon."

Gloria looks Harry up and down appreciatively. "I hope so." She spares Louis a glance. "This one's pretty. You should bring him. If you still have him by then."

Harry's hand tightens its grip on Louis' shoulder, almost to the point of pain. "Oh, I won't be letting him go," he drawls.

Louis nearly bursts out laughing at the constipated expression on Ben's face.

Gloria's smile gets a little more brittle. "Well," she begins, and then she turns to the man, whose name Louis still can't remember, and says brightly:

"Shall we try those canapés?"

"Well done," Ben murmurs to Harry as they leave the room.

"I didn't do anything," Harry says. He still hasn't let go of Louis.

And then, all at once, they've found Liam.

It takes a moment to register, for the scene before him to truly sink in, but when it does it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the passageway and Louis' knees nearly give way beneath him. Harry, next to him, sways alarmingly.

"Ben!" Liam's owner says with a smile. She's shorter and slighter than Louis remembers, but she has Liam on his knees and there's a controller in her hand and Louis has to stop himself leaping forward to snatch it from her hand. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"I wouldn't miss a party like this," Ben says easily. He gestures to Harry. "Have you met my, um, brother-in-law? Harry."

She doesn't seem to notice anything untoward as Harry reluctantly releases his hold on Louis to greet her, but she's not letting go of the controller either and Louis' mind is racing because this is something they hadn't thought of and suddenly there's a huge, gaping flaw in their plan. In _his_ plan.

Liam is still looking at the floor. He looks thinner than Louis remembers, his skin a little paler, like he’s been kept indoors and not fed well.

"-and this is Harry's slave, Louis."

Louis tunes back in to the conversation when he hears his own name, in time to see the woman give him a brief, dismissive look-over.

"He looks breakable."

"I think that's part of the charm," Ben says, smiling, and it might be all part of the charade but it still grates on Louis' nerves. _Breakable. Pretty_. The same words he’s heard for years, and never said with good intentions.

She eyes him again. "Who gave him the bruise?"

"I did," Harry says unexpectedly, and she looks at him with renewed interest.

"Someone has hidden depths."

"Harry certainly does," Ben says smoothly. "Why don't we get a drink, and find ourselves somewhere to sit down instead of standing around in a corridor?"

"Why not indeed?" she says, smiling at Harry. She barely spares a glance for Liam, taking a moment only to hook the end of the leash she holds into a wall fixing.

"Stay here," Ben tells Louis. Louis nods, and drops to his knees next to Liam.

"You have him well trained," the woman comments. "Not to leash him. Mine has tried to escape twice."

Louis grins to himself but keeps his head down.

"Louis knows what to do," Harry says. His hand rests on the back of Louis' head, briefly. Ben looks like he wants to say something and his hand keeps fidgeting to his pocket but whatever it is obviously isn't that important because they move away without him having said anything.

Louis waits until the sound of their conversation has faded before he risks looking up and around. The passageway seems to be entirely deserted now, and anyone who does venture out of the rooms is going to take one look at Liam's leash and - hopefully - move on.

"Liam," he hisses.

There's no reaction for a moment, a terrible, nerve-wracking moment where he thinks Liam might have retreated so far into his own head there’s no way Louis will be able to reach him, and then Liam's head very slowly comes up and he looks at Louis.

"L-Louis?" His voice is scratchy, almost inaudible.

"Yeah, it's me." Louis hesitates; words feel meaningless in the face of the emotion of the moment. He'd been convinced for a long time that he'd never see Liam again and now he's right here in front of him, real and alive and shaking under Louis' fingertips.

"Fuck," Liam says. He looks like he's about to cry. "Fuck, Louis. Where-"

"Later," Louis says, cutting him off. The last thing he wants is to have a conversation that might involve talking about Zayn. "We have a plan to get you out of here, yeah?"

Liam touches the collar encircling his neck. "There's a problem there."

" _Not_ a problem," Louis corrects, and produces - with only a little difficulty - the controller he'd stolen from Arki. The controller Harry had been carrying tucked away in his blazer.

Liam's eyes go wide. "Is that-"

"Yeah." Louis takes a deep breath, double-checks the settings, and holds it to Liam's collar before he can have second thoughts.

"Wait, Louis-"

The collar clicks, and opens. Louis and Liam stare at each other for a long moment and then Louis starts to laugh and, a second later, Liam does too.

"You bastard," Liam gasps. "I thought you were dead."

"Funny how that happens." Louis quickly runs his hands over Liam's arms and chest, checking for injuries. There are a few tender points he thinks might be cracked ribs but nothing serious, as far as he can tell. “We need to get you the fuck out of here.”

“And you,” Liam says at once. "Believe me, you don't want to be around here when the Wicked Witch finds out I've gone and spoiled her fun."

Louis touches his fingertips to the bruise on Liam's face that almost matches his own. "That bad?"

Liam grimaces. "You know how it is."

Louis does. He carefully removes the separated collar from around Liam's neck and sets it on the floor, before helping Liam to his feet.

"Won't someone see us?"

"Yes." Louis starts off along the passageway, Liam trailing in his wake. "But they won't care."

It's true - almost - and the few servers they see don't really pay any attention to them, perhaps assuming they're just fetching something for their owners, or not really even seeing them. That's the trick, he thinks; walk with enough confidence, with enough of an air of being exactly where he's supposed to be, and no one will have any reason to think otherwise.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Liam whispers as they reach the end of the passageway. “There’s nothing down here, and no way are we going to get out the way we came in.”

“Don’t need to,” Louis says briefly, and goes over to a manhole set into the floor and crouches down. He raps his knuckles on the thin plate and waits. This, he thinks, is where he really finds out whether Ben is trustworthy or not.

Liam's eyes go almost comically wide as the manhole slowly starts to move, stiffly at first because it's held in place by months or, more likely, years of disuse, but then more easily. Louis helps, getting his hands underneath the edge of the plate to move it to the side.

"About fucking time," Niall grumbles. “It’s dark down here.” He looks past Louis to where Liam is standing and his face splits into a grin that could light rooms. "Hey."

"Oh god," Liam says faintly. He shakes his head. "I'm dreaming this. Or I'm dead and this is the afterlife."

Louis rolls his eyes at him exasperatedly. "You're not dead, you twat. Does this look like the fucking afterlife to you?"

"It could be-" Liam starts. He shuts up when Louis gets hold of his arm and pushes him bodily towards the void in the floor. "What are you doing?"

"You are getting the fuck out of here," Louis says flatly. "Go on, quickly. Before someone sees."

Maybe it's the thought of his erstwhile owner coming back but Liam doesn't waste any more time asking questions; he scrambles to sit on the edge of the hole while Niall drops down into the darkness. Then, giving Louis a last look, he follows Niall down into the subterranean passageway. Quick as a flash, Louis picks up the manhole cover and sets it down in place, pushing it close to before either of them can react. He stamps on it a few times, both to forestall any protests and make sure it's firmly wedged in place.

And that's when the fire alarm goes off.

Louis swears under his breath as doors start opening and people start spilling out into the passageway. He quickly steps away from the manhole cover, trying to put some space between himself and it. This wasn't in the plan, and his mind is whirling, trying to calculate the best course of action.

In the end he goes back to where he was supposed to be waiting with Liam and kneels down, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. The exodus of people has become a rush; almost all of them are drunk and between the laughter and the shouting and the stampeding feet Louis can hardly hear a thing, and it's all he can do to keep his hands up in front of him to stop himself from being kneed in the face.

“Fucking _whore_ ,” he hears someone hiss at him. Someone grabs hold of his hair, jerks his head back. Eyes watering, he looks up into the face of an overweight, balding man. “Fucking waste of space.”

Louis bites back on an angry response, trying to slip back into the correct behaviour for a slave and not let the fact that he's genuinely scared show in his expression.

“Oh, leave him,” a woman says, somewhere behind the man. “He's not worth it.”

The man laughs cruelly. “That's true enough.” He relinquishes his hold on Louis' hair, shoves him back hard enough that the back of Louis's head hits the wall. “A piece of shit like you isn't worth saving,” he sneers, kneeing Louis in the shoulder. “Hope you're looking forward to having your neck snapped.”

_Fuck you_ , Louis thinks, but he keeps it to himself, grovels on the floor until the man moves away.

It dawns on him, gradually, that the crowd isn’t actually _going_ anywhere. Whatever is going on up at the front, the passageway is not emptying and those at the back, not comprehending what's happening further along, are still pushing forward. It's hard to pinpoint when, exactly, the mood changes, but Louis feels the shift, feels the wave of panic swell and propagate through the crowd as they realise they're trapped.

Reaching a quick decision, Louis gets on all fours and starts crawling against the flow, staying as close to the wall as he can. It's not exactly dignified, and it's painful - he gets kicked more than once - but he's moving away from what is starting to sound like something terrible and he can breathe, almost.

He has no idea how far he crawls: it's probably much less than it feels and he comes out of the crush so suddenly, so abruptly, he nearly falls on his face. He doesn't look back; he gets to his feet, staggering a little, and nearly falls back down when someone seizes hold of his arm and drags him into the adjoining room, slamming the door to behind them.

_Harry_.

"Are, are you ok?" Harry demands. Louis has just enough time to notice that Harry has lost his blazer somewhere along the way and is wearing Ben's jacket before he's pulled into a hug so tight the air is driven from his lungs all over again.

"Please tell me you didn't knock her out," he says weakly when Harry finally lets him go.

Harry stares at him for a moment and then starts to laugh, a soft, oddly choked laugh. "No. No I didn't. She's fine. Probably."

Louis can't stop touching him; his hands fist in Harry's shirt front of their own volition. "What did you do with her, then?"

"Locked her in," Harry says. There’s something off about him, but Louis can’t put his finger on what’s wrong. “Did you get Liam out?"

"Yeah. He's fine. He's gone with Niall." Louis finally takes a look at the room they're in and winces at the crumpled, pathetic body on the floor. "Fuck. Are they just getting rid of all of us or what?"

"They're taking some slaves," Harry says. "Not many. There aren't many seats out of here left. So they're using the ones they don't want for, um, entertainment."

Louis pulls a face. There's no doubt in his mind that Liam's owner was going to kill him. Or- he can't quite remember the term they use; something that makes it sound so much nicer than it is. Something that lets them pretend it's not murder.

"What's going on out there?"

Louis approaches the door warily and cracks it open an inch or two. He can't really see much but he can hear shouting. And screaming. "I have no idea. Something bad. We should get out of here." He looks around the room frustratedly. "Not sure how, though. They're blocking the only way out."

Harry's hand catches his arm. "Why didn't you go with Liam? That's what we agreed."

"Didn't have time," Louis says vaguely, but Harry keeps staring at him and it feels pointless, somehow, to lie. "Ok, fine, but someone had to make sure the manhole cover was back in place."

"It wouldn't have mattered," Harry argues. "By the time anyone realised, you'd have been long gone."

"And now they won't realise for a lot longer." Louis stops, and sighs. This isn't the time and place to fall out with Harry. "Anyway," he says with forced levity. "Did you really think I was going to leave you here?"

Harry's eyes, already wide, suddenly seem impossibly huge. Louis shakes his head at him.

"We'll talk later, idiot. Let's get out of here first."

It _sounds_ good, but the truth of it is that Louis has no idea how they are going to get out of the building. He risks another look out into the passageway, opening the door a little wider this time since no one seems to be looking in their direction. All he can see is a mass of people. Those at the very back are still pushing forward, too drunk and too confused to realise the futility of it.

He pulls back into the room and shuts the door, turning to scan the room again, more carefully this time.

"There has to be another way out," he mutters.

"The floor?"

"It's tiled in here. I can't see any trapdoors or anything."

Harry stops in the act of pacing across the room, frowning. There's something in his pose that catches Louis' attention.

"What's wrong?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know, I-"

It's thunder, Louis thinks at first, even though that doesn't make any sense - they're indoors and thunder shouldn't sound that loud - and then his brain catches up with what his ears are hearing and he dives to the floor as the building shivers and shakes around them - the first roll of thunder giving way to a series of dull, staccato thuds as the lights go out and the room is plunged into darkness.

And Louis knows what’s going on, somehow calm in the face of terror, adrenaline giving him a clarity of insight he can only wish he'd had before. He realises that they've managed to get themselves caught up in something that is nothing to do with them and everything to do with the grey-faced, dead-eyed servers haunting the passageways, unnoticed and overlooked until it was too late.

"Harry," he says, not bothering to lower his voice. The screaming and sporadic gunfire outside is more than enough to drown out the sound of his voice. "You ok?"

"Y-yeah. I think so," Harry says.

"Good." Louis feels around himself carefully, checking for obstructions. "Do you remember where that body was?"

There's a pause, as if Harry is trying to work out whether Louis has lost his marbles or not, and then Harry says cautiously, "In the corner, away from the door."

"Ok." Louis makes a face to himself. "I want you to do what I say, yeah? No arguing."

"Ok," Harry says at once.

"Take your clothes off."

There's a moment of silence before Harry says slowly, "Louis, this isn't the time."

"Just fucking do it, Harry," Louis says exasperatedly, pulling off his own clothes as fast as he can and throwing them towards what he hopes is the corner of the room. “You’re going to need to look dead, ok?”

With the power to the building seemingly out, the temperature is dropping rapidly and Louis shivers as he stretches out on the cold floor. He can hear rustling; hopefully Harry doing the same.

There isn’t much screaming to be heard now, just the occasional muffled, dull thud, the occasional yell. Somehow that makes it worse; if there's no screaming the chances are that everyone is either dead or has put as much distance as possible between themselves and what's going on here. Louis can't really bring himself to care about any of the party-goers being dead but the feeling of being one of the last survivors isn't great either.

The soundproofing of the room is very good: they get no warning at all before the door suddenly crashes open and light spills into the room. Louis doesn't have time to close his eyes and he's quick-thinking enough not to close them as two men step into the room. He lies very still and tries not to breathe and he can only hope that Harry is doing the same.

"Nothing," he hears one of the men say.

"What about them?"

"I said, nothing. Throw them out with the rest of the trash."

And, as quickly as they arrived, they're gone, and Louis finally allows himself to let out a shuddering breath.

"Fuck," Harry says, very softly.

Louis doesn't bother telling him to be quiet: with the door open, he can hear what's going on outside more clearly and there's plenty of noise to cover any conversation between the two of them if they keep their voices down.

"Yeah, well, we can't hang around. We've got to get out of here before they come back."

"To throw us out with the rest of the trash."

Louis winces. He might have known Harry would pick up on that and worry at it like a dog with a bone. "Ignore it. It's not worth it."

"They should be on our side," Harry says, aggrieved. He follows Louis in getting to his feet. "We're not their enemies."

"Maybe you can explain that to them," Louis says sarcastically. He looks for his clothes. "I'm sure they'll listen."

He'd feel better if he could close the door again but he doesn't dare; as long as the door is open, it means the room has already been searched, and with any luck no one else will come to look.

"We can't go out there. They'll spot us - well, me - straight away." Louis looks around the room frustratedly. "Why couldn't they put a fucking window in here?"

"Louis," Harry says slowly. "Why can't we go out through the ceiling?"

"What- oh." Louis looks up, and immediately sees what Harry has noticed: it's a suspended ceiling, polystyrene tiles set into a frame. Tiles that could be pushed up. "Harry, that's fucking brilliant."

It takes them slightly longer than Louis would like to find a tile that is to the side of one of the structural roof beams, but as soon as they do he climbs on Harry's shoulders and pushes the tile up and to the side so he can lever himself up onto the beam. It's not easy - his arm and shoulder muscles scream in protest and he thinks he might have pulled something but somehow he manages to position himself so he's sitting on the beam in the roof void and can reach down to help Harry up.

Harry has dragged over the body to use as a step stool. He pulls a face when he stands on it.

"It's okay," Louis tells him. "He's gone where no one can hurt him. _We're_ still alive."

Harry nods determinedly, takes a deep breath, and launches himself upwards. Louis grabs hold of his arms and somehow – he's not sure entirely how because it feels like he's dislocated both shoulders – Harry ends up on the beam next to him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Louis gets hold of the ceiling tile and presses it back into place to cover their tracks.

"I never want to do that again in my life," Harry says breathlessly.

"Hopefully you won't have to." Louis looks around. He'd expected it to be dark up here but there's a reddish glow coming from somewhere, enough light for them to be able to find their way. “Come on; there has to be a way out of here. For maintenance, if nothing else.”

“Over there,” Harry says, pointing over Louis' shoulder. “Looks like there's a hatch or something.”

“Is it me or is it really hot in here?” Louis starts, and then his brain connects the dots and he'd smack himself if it didn't guarantee more agony from his abused shoulder muscles. “Fuck; the building's on fire. Let's not hang around.”

Crawling is out of the question – the beams simply aren't wide enough. By crouching they can just about walk, carefully, one foot in front of the other. By the time they reach the hatch the void is starting to fill with a thick, acrid smoke.

“Please tell me it's not fucking locked,” Louis mutters as he ducks down to peer at the hatch.

It's not; there's a handle that turns easily and the hatch opens to reveal a passageway on the other side that is both smoke-free and deserted. The utilitarian paintwork and flooring suggest it isn't an area for visitors, which is just fine with Louis.

“Go,” he tells Harry, pushing him towards the hatch. He shuffles around to give Harry more room to duck through the hatch and as he does so his foot slips off the beam and he flails for balance as Harry grabs hold of his arm, kicking down through the ceiling tile immediately below as he struggles to regain his footing.

“You ok?” Harry says urgently.

He feels like he's suspended in the air, held only by the reassuring strength of Harry's arm. If Harry let go … if Harry decides he's too much effort … he'll fall. Fall straight down into the room below.

Fall at her feet.

He stares down into the room. Caroline, crouched on the floor, stares back, her eyes locked on him, and he can feel his knees buckling, the instinctive need to grovel at her feet, the hold she has on his soul reasserting itself.

Somewhere, far away, Harry is yelling his name, but Louis can barely hear him over the pounding of his heart and the silky slither of her voice in his head.

_I own you, Louis. You belong to me. You'll always belong to me._

She gets to her feet, never looking away from him. “Louis,” she says with nothing more than a faint tremor in her voice. “Get down here.”

_You're mine._

“No,” he says.

She frowns. “Get down here and help me get out of here. _Now_.”

Louis covers Harry's hand on his arm with his free hand and squeezes. “I'm not your slave.”

Her mouth twists into an awful, ugly shape. “You'll always be mine, Louis,” she snarls. “You'll always be what I made you.”

“Maybe,” Louis agrees, and he uses the last of his strength to throw himself towards Harry, and safety, and Harry's arms close around him and drag him bodily through the hatch into the passageway as Caroline screams in rage and frustration behind them.

Harry sits him down against the wall so he can close the hatch behind them. Louis stares blankly at the linoleum floor. He isn't even sure what he's feeling.

“Hey,” Harry says gently, crouching down at his side. “Not meaning to rush you or anything but we, um, need to keep moving.”

Louis nods. “Do you- do you think we should have-”

“No,” Harry says simply.

They follow the passageway to a stairwell, which takes them down to street level and, finally, the open air. The alleyway they're ejected into is narrow and dark and smells of garbage, but it's also empty and, by keeping close to the wall of the building, they make their way to the street it intersects and join the mass of people flowing along it, holding hands so they won't be separated in the crowd.

Louis had been worried about standing out with their dirty, bloodied faces and clothes amongst the wealthy and well-dressed, but he sees now he needn't have done so.

The defences have fallen. The mob is through the gates and into the city itself.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end brings a new beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to everyone who has followed this fic, and for your lovely comments along the way. Writing it has been a rollercoaster - mostly fun! - and believe me when I say that the ending is 100% more positive than the original ending I wrote 2 years ago!
> 
> Xita xx  
> http://sorcxita.tumblr.com/

They go back to Ben's apartment sometime in the middle of the night, because Harry says they need clean clothes and Louis needs only minimal persuasion to drop out of the mob swarming towards the river and make their ways via side streets and alleyways to the apartment building. The power is off, but someone has forced open the doors. There are no security staff in sight. It feels strange to walk across the deserted entrance hall and Louis keeps expecting a door to slam open and someone to appear to challenge them. But no one does.

The elevators aren't working. They take the stairs to Ben's floor. Whatever looting has gone on elsewhere in the building, it doesn't seem to have got this far yet, and the door is still locked. Harry produces a key from Ben's jacket and unlocks it.

"Lucky you have that," Louis says, picking at the sleeve of the jacket.

Harry pulls a face. "Yeah."

He locks the door behind them almost as an afterthought. Louis privately thinks that if anyone really wants to get in then they're not going to be stopped by a lock but he keeps the thought to himself. He wanders over to the windows and stares out over the river.

"Anything interesting?" Harry says from the kitchen area, where he's systematically emptying the cupboards into a bag.

"Stuff on fire. Bodies in the river." Louis presses his face against the glass to peer upriver and winces: he's still sore from where Ben punched him. He leans back a little and looks down at the quay where he'd watched the boats being loaded instead. There's no one there now. "It's almost too quiet."

"It won't be for long," Harry says.

"No." The mob is strangely contained at the moment but Louis knows it won't take much to spark into something much uglier, more brutal. There are too many years of anger and hatred and resentment, too much fear. The mob will be looking for scapegoats soon enough.

"Do you think Liam and Niall got out ok?"

Louis has been trying not to think about it. "They were gone before things got really bad," he says, more to reassure himself than anything else. "And they're survivors. They'll be fine. Niall knows what to do," he amends. He still isn't entirely sure that those long months away haven't fucked Liam up beyond repair.

"Yeah," Harry says. He opens the fridge and starts rummaging around. "Do you want something to eat? Are- are we staying here?"

Louis hadn't even thought this far ahead. His entire plan had been to get Liam out, and to fulfil his part of his deal with Ben to get Harry to safety, and now, thanks to forces entirely out of his control, he hasn't been able to do either the way he wanted to. He thinks of those precious plane tickets and wants to cry.

"You know, we could go back," he begins. "Maybe look for Ben. He might have survived."

There's a long silence, long enough that he looks round to see why Harry hasn't responded. He's startled to see Harry leaning with his hands on the counter, breathing hard like he's run a race.

"Haz? You ok?"

"Yeah," Harry says quietly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just."

"Just what?"

Harry makes an abortive gesture with his hands towards the jacket he'd discarded. Curious, Louis wanders over and picks it up.

"You miss him? Harry, we can go and look for him."

“Look in the inside pocket," Harry says.

There's something weighing the jacket down and as soon as he reaches into the pocket Louis knows what it is and his hand flinches away like it's been burnt. "Fuck!"

"Yeah." Harry sounds almost amused now. "That was my reaction, too."

"It's a fucking collar." Warily, Louis puts his hand back in the pocket and extracts the collar, holding it between two fingers. It's a strange design, one he hasn't seen before, with a tiny, bulbous extrusion on the front. "Why did he have this?"

Harry laughs. He doesn't sound amused. "It's for you. Or, it was. He was going to put it on you."

"Oh," Louis says numbly. He turns the collar over in his hand. It weighs next to nothing, and that feels wrong on some fundamental level. For most of his life he's worn one of these things around his neck and he doesn’t ever remember a time when he was unaware of its presence. "What's this thing on the front?"

"It's a control thing. It's like, you know the system they had at the house, the one you showed me?"

"Yeah, of course." Louis peers at the extrusion more closely. "Get too close to the fence and it snaps your neck. Not something you forget."

"It's like that. But you don't need a fence. Look in the other pocket."

There's a tiny remote control tucked away in the other pocket, not much bigger than his thumb. It has three buttons, labelled in discreetly embossed text: _Disarm, unlock, end_.

End. Louis swallows thickly.

"He thought you wouldn't leave me," Harry says quietly. "He wanted to be sure."

Louis looks up and Harry is in front of him and he doesn't remember Harry coming over from the kitchen area. "You knew?" he asks. His voice cracks a little. “You knew he was going to-”

Harry vehemently shakes his head. "No!" His expression crumbles. "Did you really think I- that I would-"

"No," Louis says quickly. "I don't think that. I just- When did you find out?"

"I didn't know," Harry says. "I didn't know what he was planning until- until we'd left you with Liam, and then he told that woman some shit and it was just us, and he tried to-" He stops, and shakes his head at Louis. "He didn't do anything. But he wanted to, I think. He told me what you two discussed. He told me that you didn't want me, that you'd begged him to take me away."

"That's not exactly true," Louis mutters, but Harry carries on regardless.

"And I was upset and I thought, ok, you don't want me, I know I fucked up with you, and you have every right to hate me for what I did, and-" Harry pauses, then continues in an entirely different tone of voice. "I told him to fuck off and locked him in a room."

"He's probably dead by now," Louis observes.

"Probably." Harry doesn't sound repentant. “But, you know, in a way he was right.”

“Was he,” Louis says flatly. “And which bit was he right about?”

Harry’s fingers worry at the hem of Louis’ shirt. “He said it would never be a fairytale with you. And that I was stupid to think it would be.” He tugs at the shirt, just a little. “You lied to me. About escaping with Liam.”

“I didn’t _lie_ ,” Louis protests. “I just didn’t tell you everything.”

“That’s the point,” Harry says insistently. “You kept something from me I needed to know. Did you really think I would have been happy to leave you here?”

“Maybe,” Louis mutters. He can’t look at Harry. “You would have forgotten me, eventually.”

Harry’s voice, when he speaks, is softer than Louis has ever heard it. “No, I wouldn’t. I couldn't be happy without you.”

They're alone in the room but it feels crowded, somehow. There are ghosts surrounding them, flickers of memory suspended in time. And perhaps, Louis thinks, that's what they are too. Suspended in time, before the end of everything catches up with them.

He reaches up and brushes his thumb against Harry's cheek. “Your hair's getting long.”

Harry turns his head into the caress. “I like it like this.”

“So do I.” He tugs at Harry's arm with his other hand. “Let's get cleaned up.”

There's still hot water – a miracle in itself – although Louis suspects it won't last for long. In the darkened bathroom they cram into the shower cubicle together and take turns under the hot torrent, washing the smell of blood and smoke off their skin and out of their hair. Pressed so close to Harry, unable to see him clearly in the darkness, Louis startles when he feels a familiar hardness pressed against his side.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles.

“It's ok,” Louis tells him. “It's just adrenaline. We nearly fucking died.” He dares to stroke his fingers across Harry's hipbone. “It's not a bad thing.”

“Isn't that my line,” Harry says, and he sounds out of breath even though Louis' only touching his hip. “Fuck. If you keep doing that, I-”

Without a word Louis drops gracefully to his knees, bracketing Harry against the wall of the cubicle and wrapping his hand around the base of Harry's cock to forestall any arguments.

“Louis,” Harry says softly. “You don't have to do this.”

“I know.” Louis glances up. He wishes he could see Harry, see the expression on his face, but maybe it's better like this, easier. When it's just touch and want and need and nothing else. When it's just them, without the weight of everything that's gone before, everything equal between them, no obligations, no debts to pay. “But I want to.”

“Fuck,” Harry says again as Louis kisses the head of his cock. “Louis, you _really_ don't have to.”

Louis swats at Harry's thigh with his other hand. “Will you just be quiet and go with it,” he scolds. “If I don't like it, I'll stop, ok?”

Harry laughs shakily. “Yeah. Yeah, ok. Like that then.”

Louis can feel Harry's thready pulse at his hip, hear his unsteady breaths as Louis takes him into his mouth, taste him on his tongue, already close, and it wasn't a lie, what he told Harry: for the first time in his life he does want to do this. The feel of Harry's skin and the fullness in his mouth, the scent of him, the taste of him, the sound of his soft moans and gasps as Louis takes him in deep: it's dizzying, intoxicating, and _theirs;_ not anything tainted by the memories of all the others, so many others, but something just for them, something so perfect and fragile Louis doesn't want it to ever end.

“Louis,” Harry gasps. “I'm going to-”

Louis just hums and sucks harder and then Harry's coming, a soft moan escaping his lips as he spills in Louis' mouth. Louis holds him through the aftershocks, hands splayed on Harry's thighs, until Harry reaches down for him with shaking hands and pulls him into an embrace so tight Louis can barely breathe.

They dry themselves in silence, and then they go back into the living area and make sandwiches to use up what's left in the fridge, things that will soon go off without electricity.

Afterwards, while Harry starts getting together all the clean clothes he can find, Louis collects pillows and duvets from the bedrooms and piles them together in front of the big windows to make a makeshift bed. He doesn't feel remotely guilty for messing up Ben's apartment. Ben had played him and Harry both and if Louis can't blame him for wanting Harry he's not exactly ready to forgive him either.

“What if someone comes?” Harry says when he comes over to the bed.

“We'll deal with it.” Louis stretches out. It's not the most comfortable bed he's ever slept in but it's hardly the most uncomfortable. “Come on, sleep. We need to sleep. We're not staying here and this might be the last chance we have for a long time to sleep somewhere decent.”

Harry sighs, and sinks down into the nest of duvets next to Louis, at first careful to maintain a little distance between the two of them before Louis throws his arm around his waist and pulls him close.

“You're cold,” Harry mumbles sleepily.

Louis presses his face into Harry's hair. “And you're warm.”

He sleeps for a while, he's not sure how long but when he opens his eyes it's nearly dawn, the room washed with a hazy grey light. Louis lifts his head just enough to peek over the windowsill and sees nothing but grey: the fog has come down again and he can't even see the river.

Louis drops back down, and Harry shifts and mumbles something indistinct as he comes back to wakefulness.

“Sorry,” Louis says softly. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

“What time is it?” Harry stretches lazily in Louis' embrace, pushing himself back against Louis' body.

“Don't know. Early.” Louis kisses his neck, thrilling at the way Harry shivers and presses back against him again. “Like that?”

Harry nods frantically, and Louis laughs.

“Turn over.”

Harry looks confused until he sees what Louis has in his hand: the small tube of lube he'd taken from Ben's bathroom cabinet. He gets that stubborn look on his face that Louis has seen before and shakes his head.

“No.”

And there's so much Louis wants to say to him, so much he wants to explain, so much he doesn't need Harry to explain to him - because what they have isn't perfect and probably never will be, but it's enough - but what comes out is:

“I'm not scared.”

Harry's mouth pulls tight. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Louis leans down to kiss the side of his mouth. “We could be dead by tonight,” he says, very softly, and it may not be romantic but it seems to be what Harry needs to hear because he's kissing Louis back then, all desperation and need and everything else he can't put into words.

“Wait,” he says, as Louis is sinking down on him, frowning.

“What?” Louis asks, breathlessly, because he'd forgotten how _big_ Harry is and the stretch is more than a little uncomfortable. Not painful, but enough that it makes him go a little more carefully than he might otherwise.

Harry looks so miserable Louis almost feels offended. “I-I have to tell you something.”

Louis looks down at him, considering. There's only one thing he can think of that Harry hasn't told him. “It's ok,” he tells him.

Harry shakes his head. “No. No, it's not. And I have to-”

“Ben told me that you- that you gave them names, to save your family.” Louis watches him carefully as he speaks, looking for the reaction. Harry's still hard inside him but he's turned his face away. “Harry, it's ok.”

“It's not ok,” Harry says, muffled.

Louis laughs, high and shockingly loud in the stillness of the apartment, loud enough to make Harry look back in startled surprise.

“No, it's not ok,” Louis tells him, rocking gently. “None of this is fucking _ok_ , Haz.” He waves a hand that is meant to encompass not only the apartment but everything else too. “You did what you thought was right at the time, yeah?”

“I was wrong,” Harry says stubbornly.

“Maybe,” Louis agrees. “But you didn't know that at the time. You did what you had to. Like I've always done what I had to. To survive, to get by. It doesn't make you a bad person. And this is not a good time for this conversation, by the way.” He rolls his hips for emphasis and Harry huffs out a laugh.

“You have a point.”

“Of course I do.” Louis leans down so he can kiss him, moaning softly as the change in angle makes Harry, impossibly, feel even bigger inside him. And it doesn't feel _bad_ , it doesn't feel like it's something being done to him, something that he has to endure for someone else's sake. Louis isn't quite sure what it feels like but the connection he feels to Harry like this is something he's never felt before.

Harry seems to understand at least something of what's running through his mind, because his finger traces up Louis' thigh and over his hip, close to but not quite touching his cock.

“I wish I could make it good for you,” he says wistfully.

“It _is_ good for me,” Louis assures him. “I like it.” He kisses Harry's chin and sits back up. “I like watching you. I like how you feel in me.”

Harry's cheeks go pink but he doesn't say anything more, just holds on to Louis' hips, steadying him as Louis rides him, until at last he throws back his head and his mouth opens on a silent scream as he comes.

They use the last of the hot water on another shower and then they get dressed, putting on as many layers of clothing as possible so they'll have less to carry. The fog is burning off now, the morning sun starting to come through. Louis goes back to the windows and stares out over the river, at the fires burning on the far bank and the burnt-out truck hanging over the side of Tower Bridge and the swarms of people still pouring over the bridge.

Behind him, Harry is humming. Louis recognises the tune; he rolls his eyes.

“That's _Tower_ Bridge, Harry, not London Bridge. And it's not falling down.”

“Yet,” Harry says.

“Doubt they're going to blow up the bridge. That thing's stood for however many years it has.”

Louis' attention is caught by a flicker of movement to his left: a plane is flying up the river, struggling for height with smoke trailing from one engine. It's a small plane, a twin engine turbo-prop. In the burnished gold light of sunrise, it looks like it's on fire.

“The last flight,” he says softly.

The plane banks south, still less than a few hundred feet above the ground. They stand and watch until it's lost from sight.

Harry coughs. “We should go,” he says.

“Yeah.” Louis glances at him and smiles. “Brave new world, Haz.”

Harry studies him for a moment and then nods, decisively. “Yeah. It is.”

Before they go, Louis sets the collar down on the dining table, arms it, and steps back. Harry doesn't say anything; just watches while Louis picks up the remote control and presses the button.

The collar snaps tight with a resounding crack. This time, Louis doesn't flinch.

Harry doesn't bother locking the door behind them when they leave the apartment. Someone will come along soon enough.

They walk down the stairs to the entrance hall. It's still deserted, but someone has thrown a brick through one of the windows and the floor is covered with shards of glass that crunch underfoot as they walk to the doors.

Harry pauses. “Ready?” he asks.

Outside lies the unknown, and an uncertain future. But there's one thing Louis is certain does not lie outside, and that's the past.

“Let's go,” he says, and he takes Harry's hand so they can walk together into the light of the new day.


End file.
